


Only For Tonight Part 3

by NuMo



Series: Only For Tonight [3]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bi-Gender Character, Bottom H.G., Canon deviation, Dom!Myka, F/F, F/M, Gender-Fluid Character, H.G. has a hang-up, Multi, Not canon-compliant, Sub!H.G., Top Myka, a lot of plot with a bit of porn at the end, bi-gender Helena “H. G.” Wells | Emily Lake, end of season 2, gender-fluid Helena “H. G.” Wells | Emily Lake, mild Dom/Sub, post-vendetta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: This is the part in which our protagonists will learn to live with their new knowledge of each other. This goes far more into the Hurt/Comfort area of things, but there will be sexytimes, never fear; both F/F and M/F (yes, M/F – please notice the gender-fluid/bi-gender tags), from Chapter 8 onwards. Find Part Onehereand Part Twohere.Sexytimes, for all you skippers, can be found in chapter 8 and 9. They start out M/F in chapter 8, and end up being F/F in chapter 9.I have a shitton more ideas of sexytimes for these characters, and I'd love to get even more ideas from you! So if you like, give me a shout-out and I’ll start working on Part Four LOL.
Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells
Series: Only For Tonight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684066
Comments: 19
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

Once again, Myka waited. 

The only thing that made it easier this time was that every other day, with exacting precision at eight thirty in the morning, she’d get a text message from H.G. “I hope this finds you well. I write to reassure you I am well also.”, or similarly, delightfully old-fashioned variations thereof. 

Whenever Myka arrived at her latest destination, she in turn sent H.G. the actual, physical address – also something that had become a habit. Invariably, they would reply with a “thank you”, and a screenshot of the address pointed out on a mapping app, and a “this one?”, to which, invariably, Myka would reply “yes.” And then H.G. would time their message – if one was scheduled – to eight-thirty am of that time zone. It was really sweet, and remarkably reassuring.

Myka wanted H.G. to know where to find her, and she was sure that H.G. _would_ find her, come the day they chose to. 

She just didn’t know when that was going to be, and H.G.’s messages’ reassurance only went so far. 

Then Pete was whammied and almost died, and Myka realized she needed a break. The constant worry about H.G. was one thing, hard to bear but almost habitual at this point. But to worry about her best friend on top of that? She made it through the retrieval mostly on her iron discipline, nerves, and sheer luck, and when Pete and the other victims of Walter Winchell's Tie Clip and Cuff Links were safe and restored, she went to Artie and told him in no uncertain terms that she needed to take time off. 

Maybe it was the way she couldn’t even look at him that convinced him. Or the way that she couldn’t even say Pete’s name. Or maybe Mrs. F had a hand in it after the Janus Coin disaster. Whatever it was, Artie just nodded gruffly, and said to take as much time as she needed. She barely listened to him, grabbed one of her overnight bags and the keys to her car, and headed south.

She hadn’t been in her cabin for a long time and the place showed it; she’d holed up here after Sam died, and hadn’t returned once she’d re-established herself in Washington. Thus, the first two days were spent cleaning, airing, and stocking the fridge and freezer. No critters to chase outside, thankfully; the cabin was structurally sound, and the insulation and caulking flawless.

Myka knew, because back when she’d inherited the place, she’d spent half a summer making sure of it. 

Bless Mr. Merriweather. 

He’d been one of the residents at the senior citizens’ home that Myka had worked at during college. A widower with no surviving children, and a lone and overworked pre-med student – they’d become friends, when Myka worked the night shifts and Mr. Merriweather couldn’t sleep. Friends over board games, card games, crossword puzzles solved together, and conversations about anything and everything under the sun. 

Still, when Myka had been contacted by a lawyer after Mr. Merriweather’s death, she hadn’t envisioned _this_. 

The cabin was a true little hide-away, tucked into the northern end of the Colorado Rockies, at the end of a stretch of road you had to know in order to find – at least in pre-navigation-system times. When Myka had first driven there, it had taken her several false turns to find the place, and she’d been glad that she’d started out from Boulder in the early morning – she’d had four hours of daylight left to inspect the house and make sure it was safe to stay in it. 

She’d spent the weekend there that first time, and a full week later that summer during break, and had gotten to know the cabin’s quirks, and some of the neighbors – if you could call them such. The closest of them was Darla Forster, almost a mile away, who these days also had a spare key and Myka’s phone number. After that first summer, and many, many lists of what the house needed, Myka had returned to college, put her head down to finish her degree, put her head down another year at her parents’ bookstore to save up what she could, and had then returned to the cabin for another summer, and five weeks of hard work before Secret Service training was scheduled to start.

After those five weeks, the employees of the nearest hardware store knew and greeted her by name, and the house was truly Myka’s home. Not just ‘home away from home’; her parents’ place had stopped being home the moment she’d left for college. Boulder itself had never really been home either, and later, Washington wasn’t as well. 

But this place was. 

Well, and Leena’s Bed and Breakfast, but this place had come first. It was hers, truly and uniquely and unambiguously hers. No one took all the hot water here except herself. No one ate the last apple without her knowledge. No one cared if she wanted to listen to music at full volume at 2am because she couldn’t sleep – not that she did; yes, there was a boom box in the living room, but it only saw action when Myka worked on something, and that didn’t usually happen at 2am. 

She could do whatever she wanted here, and didn’t have to be mindful of others. If she ever wanted to, she could dance on the deck in summer rain, naked as the day she was born – not that she would. But she could, if she wanted. And that was what counted.

So this time, when she sent H.G. the address, it felt… intimate. Completely different than sending them the address of a hotel or motel somewhere. 

This time, she was inviting H.G. home. 

If H.G. came here, that was.

When H.G., as usual, sent the corresponding screenshot, there was an exclamation point behind the question mark of the “this one?!”, and Myka chuckled as she sent the “yes” back. The next time she drove to town, she stopped and took a picture of the turnoff where her road left the main road, and sent that to H.G. too, just to be sure. Then she headed towards the hardware store; the kitchen needed a new countertop, and the deck needed repainting. 

She might be waiting, but she’d be productive while she did. 

It was Claudia who visited her first, though, three days in. 

“How did you find me?” Myka greeted her over the sound of ‘Dancing Queen’. She put the paint brush down, took off her gloves and turned off the music, then focused on Claudia again.

Claudia was giving her a patient look.

“Yeah, okay,” Myka conceded, “point taken.” Claudia could find anyone.

“Good to see you too, Cap’n On Deck,” Claudia replied, and then she was hugging Myka, hard. “I miss you,” she added. “We’re two girls short, if you know what I mean. Even if Steve’s gay, there’s three guys and only two gals now, and Leena isn’t really an agent, so in the Warehouse? Getting very sausage-y, if you know what I mean.”

“Give me a bad conscience, will you?” Myka took a step back and shook her head with a grin to show Claudia she didn’t mean it. Then she grew serious again. “I need this, Claud.” 

“I know, I know, I know,” Claudia sighed. “I get it. But you know who doesn’t?” She gestured at her car. “Dickens.”

Myka’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me you have the cat with you,” she said flatly. 

“Um, yeah?” Claudia said with an apologetic shrug. “He hates Trailer, he hates Pete the Ferret, and the only one of _us_ who likes _him_ is Leena. I mean I would like him, but he hates me, and he hates Pete, and Steve and Artie are both allergic. What are we supposed to do with him?”

Myka put her hands on her hips. “Did you even think that I could be allergic too?” 

Claudia ducked her head. “About eighty miles south of Featherhead, yeah,” she admitted, “but by then I figured I might as well come visit. I miss you!”

“So you said,” Myka sighed, and gave Claudia a reassuring little smile. “And I miss you too, but… I’m not really a cat person.”

“Well, how about H.G. then? He’s her cat, after all.”

Myka blinked. “What about her?” She was glad she hadn’t stumbled on the pronoun – as she’d told H.G., this was their secret, not Myka’s to share.

“Isn’t she here?” Claudia asked back.

“No?” Myka said slowly. 

“Aw man,” Claudia snapped her fingers, “that’s twenty bucks I owe Pete. We both thought you two love-birds had holed up down here.”

Myka felt a stab of… something, at those words. 

Claudia, apparently, could see the impact, too, because she quickly added, “I’m sorry. Myka, I’m sorry, I… I shouldn’t… I mean… God, maybe I _should_ better head back.”

Myka hesitated for a moment, then sighed and took off the old cowboy hat she was wearing as protection from the sun, tossing it over the paint can. “Nah, you’re alright,” she said. “Go on in. Give me ten minutes to tidy up and get changed, okay?” 

“What about Dickens?”

Myka huffed out another sigh. “Sure, fine,” she said and gestured towards the door. “Bring him in too. Might as well, I guess.” When Claudia clapped her hands and bounded towards her car, Myka called after her, “I hope you brought his food. And his litter box!”

-_-_-

By the time Myka had changed and shown Claudia around the cabin, Dickens had started to come out of the carrier and explore the cabin.

“Nice place you got here.” Claudia sighed admiringly. “Starting to get hungry,” she added. “Any good delivery places out here?”

Myka laughed out loud. “Claude, there are _zero_ delivery places out here. I do have freezer dinners, or if you can wait a while, I can actually make us something.”

Claudia stared at her. “You can cook?”

Myka shrugged. “A bit. Following the recipe on the back of a bag isn’t that hard.”

“Yeah, no, I know, but…” Claudia shook her head and grinned. “You just keep getting more and more awesome, you know? I mean I didn’t know you knew how to paint a deck, either.”

Myka blushed. For a very brief moment, she debated telling Claudia that she’d practically remodeled half the house a few years back, but then she bit it back. No use bragging. “Following instructions on the back of a can isn’t hard either,” she murmured, then got up quickly and headed for the kitchen. “What do you want?” she called back. “Chicken tenders and mixed vegetables, chicken tenders and a salad, or microwave mac and cheese and a salad?”

“Chicken tenders _and_ mac and cheese, hold the salad?” Claudia rushed after Myka to hang over her shoulder as she inspected the contents of the freezer. “Pleeeeaaaase?”

Myka sighed and laughed. “When’s the last time that you had vegetables?” she asked, trying to sound stern. 

“I had a burger on the way,” Claudia said, “and I’m pretty sure it had a pickle on it. And ketchup. Totally counts.”

“Christ,” Myka muttered, but had to laugh again. “You know what, let’s do it.” She grabbed the bag of chicken tenders and two single-serving boxes of mac and cheese.

“Sweet!” Claudia detached herself from Myka’s back and punched the air. 

“An apple for dessert, though,” Myka tried to hold out. 

“Dude, I saw ice cream in your freezer.”

“And if we had something else for dinner than junk food, you’d get ice cream for dessert.”

Claudia huffed and pouted as Myka started up the oven. “Drill sergeant,” she muttered, but Myka could hear that her heart wasn’t in it.

“You know I’m right,” she told her. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Claudia rolled her eyes. “I’ll even help set the table. Where’s your- hey, are you expecting company?”

“What?” Myka turned around to join Claudia in looking out of the kitchen window as a non-descript dark sedan pulled up the driveway.

Then the driver got out.

“H.G.!!!” And Claudia was through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Myka was reasonably sure that Helena was in no way prepared for the Claudia whirlwind to land in her arms a scant second after getting out of the car, but she had to admit Helena handled it well. She was also sure that it was good luck that had H.G. come here in their female body – had they come here as George, Myka had had no idea of how to explain that to Claudia. 

Claudia was peppering Helena with questions as the two of them walked towards the deck where Myka stood, but her voice dropped away as the she realized the loaded silence between the two older women. 

Then, “Hi,” Myka said with a small smile, and “Hello,” Helena replied with a similarly tentative specimen.

Claudia rolled her eyes and proceeded to pull Helena up the stairs to the deck. “C’mon, hug already,” she said, letting go of Helena’s hand. Myka half expected her to push Helena forward, too. 

“Would you be okay with that?” Myka asked, feeling like even that was too much pressure. Helena did have a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look to her. It didn’t vanish from her face when she nodded gingerly, and it was still on it after Myka’s brief, equally gingerly embrace.

“Seriously, guys,” Claudia commented, “your ship is taking massive hits here.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Helena asked her. 

Claudia shook her head. “Never mind,” she said and grabbed Helena’s hand again, “look who else is here!” As they entered the cabin, she called out, “Dickens, look who’s here! It’s your mommy!”

“Do not _ever_ ,” Helena said stiffly, “refer to me that way again.” Then she turned to Myka. “What is the cat doing here?” she asked, and then added, “And what is this place?”

“Oh, just Myka’s secret lair,” Claudia replied over her shoulder as she bent to check under the sofa.

Wordlessly and without looking away from Myka, Helena raised her eyebrows.

Myka shrugged, feeling the blush start. “I inherited it,” she explained, “when I was in college.”

“I never knew that,” Helena said quietly. 

Again, Myka shrugged. “No one does, except my parents and Tracy,” she said, then glared at Claudia and added, “and, apparently, our resident computer genius.”

“Public record, baby,” Claudia sang back, then added a bit more acerbically, “plus the non-public stuff is encrypted so badly, it might as well be public too. Where _is_ that cat?”

Helena was looking at the pile of cat carrier, litter box, bags of litter and cat food in the middle of the floor in realization. “Claudia, you just brought Dickens here, didn’t you. I thought I’d made it clear that I wanted him to be taken care of at the Bed and Breakfast.”

And while Claudia reiterated her explanation, Dickens came out of the hallway to the bedrooms and butted his head against Helena’s leg, meowing loudly. Helena looked down at him with exasperation. 

Claudia checked her wristwatch. “Ah,” she said and pointed at the cat, “yeah, I guess hunger would do it.”

When Dickens repeated his head-butt-and-meow approach, Myka saw a little flicker of softness run across Helena’s features. Helena turned to Claudia, and together they set up Dickens’ food and water bowls while both Dickens and Myka watched. 

Dickens seemed confused by Helena’s scent, Myka noted – he’d scoot close, press himself against her, then blink or sneeze and retreat, and then the cycle repeated itself. 

How much Emmet Arnold Lake was there in H.G. Wells still? How much H.G. Wells had been in Emmet Arnold Lake? 

And how was a cat to tell all of this apart? 

Or a human?

Myka had pushed thoughts of this nature away for weeks, but now they tried to rush back in. She bore down on them, though, because now was not the time. Now was the time to have dinner with not just one but two unexpected guests, time to keep Dickens off the table and out of the chicken tenders bowl, time to enjoy a conversation that seemed almost normal – Helena and Claudia had always had a close relationship, like a mentor and her favorite prodigal student, and they both slipped back into those roles easily enough for Myka to slip into hers, too: older sister to Claudia, friend to Helena (no mentions of benefits at this time, though; _not_ the moment, no matter Claudia’s shipping comment from earlier, and yes, Myka _had_ understood that).

After dinner, Myka insisted that Claudia stay the night. “It’s a five hours trip back if you’re lucky,” she said, “and you had one of those already today. Stay the night, get some sleep, start out fresh tomorrow. Or are you due at the Warehouse in the morning?”

“I’m scheduled for inventory,” Claudia shrugged. 

“There’s always inventory,” Myka and Helena intoned together. They looked at each other and smiled while Claudia laughed out loud. 

“Guys, when are you coming _back?_ I miss you. I miss this.”

And just like that, the smiles congealed and dropped away. Myka looked down at her empty plate, while Helena addressed Claudia: “I will come back, darling; I promise. I can’t say when, because there are things I still need to figure out, but I _will_ return.” 

The words settled in Myka’s brain even though they weren’t spoken for her, and soothed an ache that she hadn’t even noticed before Helena’s reassurance laid it to rest. “Me too,” she said, and finally looked up. “Claudia, this isn’t a forever thing, this is just a break, a vacation. Just like Helena said – figuring things out is what I need to do, too, but whether or not I want to continue as an agent is _not_ one of those things. I love the job too much for that, and I love all of you too much for that.” She gave Claudia a fond grin. “Okay?”

Claudia was blushing. “‘Kay,” she murmured. 

“Is…” Myka hesitated for a moment, but she had to know. “Is Pete doing okay? Did he- do you know if he got my letter?” Yes, she’d written him another letter. She’d had to – the look on his face when he, under the influence of Walter Winchell's Cuff Links, had said that everyone kept leaving him had been hard to witness, and leaving him again so soon without at least telling him the whys and wherefores would have messed with him in a way that partners, _friends_ , didn’t mess with each other. 

Claudia sighed. “Yeah… he did. Says to say hi and give you a Pete-hug, which I’m not sure I was able to pull off, but I did my best earlier, so…?” She gave Myka a hopeful look.

Myka smiled back. “Thanks, Claud,” she said. “Cuff his arm for me when you get back.”

Claudia brightened immediately. “Oh, I can do _that_ alright!”

“I know you can,” Myka grinned at her. “Hard as you can, or he’ll think you, and by extension I, don’t mean it. Don’t hold back. I never do.”

“I know you don’t,” Claudia grinned back. “Don’t worry, I’ll give him a bruise to remember you by. That’s what friends are for, am I right?”

“Absolutely.”

Dickens chose this time for a renewed attempt to get onto the table; on Helena’s side this time, because that was where the empty chicken tenders bowl was. 

Helena scowled and picked him up with a stern “No.”

And where Dickens had hissed at Myka when she’d done the same thing, at Helena he simply mewled pitifully. 

“No,” Helena repeated as she set him on the floor. 

“You did see that, right?” Claudia asked Myka in a stage whisper. “He knows his mommy.”

Helena gave Claudia a withering glare, but Claudia shrugged it off as she would any such glare from Artie. Myka swallowed a chuckle. Then Helena turned to Myka, and Myka straightened her face as much as she could. Nevertheless, she caught the tail end of Helena’s glare. “I should probably start researching a place of accommodation for tonight,” Helena said, in the polite tones of the severely offended.

Myka blinked. Where had _that_ come from all of a sudden? Her mouth started to form several questions, but in the end, she dismissed them all. “Only if you really want to,” she said, trying to sound calm and even and not patronizing. “We can sleep three people here; this place has two bedrooms and there’s the couch in the living room. You are absolutely welcome to stay.”

“C’mon, H.G., don’t twist your knickers,” Claudia chimed in. “Look, I promise I won’t call you ‘mommy’ again, ever, okay?”

Helena sat back in her chair slightly, and Myka had the odd feeling that if her tattoo had been visible, her feathers would have been just barely settling after a severe bristle. “See that you do,” she muttered at Claudia. 

“But you’ll stay, yes? You can have the guest bedroom, I don’t mind the couch.” Claudia’s tone was pleading. “I mean, seriously, where’s the nearest motel, anyway, fifty miles from here?”

Myka was about to shoot Claudia a ‘don’t push her too hard’ glare when, “Alright, alright,” Helena said, raising her hands. 

“Sweet!” Claudia exclaimed again. “PJ party at Myka’s place!” Then she batted her eyelashes at Myka. “You got PJs for me, right?”

Myka laughed. “You’re lucky I did laundry this morning. You can have my spare, yes. I hope you brought your own,” she said to Helena, keeping her tone as playful as she’d talked to Claudia.

Helena’s nod was a lot less stiff than her previous behavior had been. Not quite fully back to at ease, but halfway there. 

Conversation between the three of them flowed a bit more hesitantly after that, for a while. Together, they cleared the table and cleaned the dishes, then retreated to the sofa where Claudia teased Myka about the actual flatscreen TV she had installed, and the actual DVD player hooked up to it. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that this place has-” she pressed her hands to her chest in a dramatic gesture, “cable.”

Myka laughed and explained that no, she didn’t have cable, but yes, she had a landline and was hooked up to the electric grid, no, she wasn’t hooked up to water, yes, she had a well and a pump and a septic tank – Claudia goggled at that and swore to not use the toilet while she was there – no, she didn’t have internet access, no, she didn’t want Claudia to set her up.

“I like this place the way it is,” she said, and stopped Claudia’s protests with an upheld hand. “I _do_.”

Claudia shook her head but dropped the topic, turning to Myka’s meager collection of DVDs instead. “Jeez, what do you _do_ to keep yourself entertained?” she asked incredulously.

“I read,” Myka said with a shrug and a meaningful glance at the bookshelves. She caught Helena’s eyes – there was a definite, almost conspiratorial glint of amusement in them, and Myka smiled at her. Helena’s return smile was heartbreakingly tentative at first, then grew in strength.

“Tim frickin’ Curry?” Claudia interrupted the moment, holding up a DVD case. 

“Ah! Yeah, he’s in Clue,” Myka nodded. “That is a good one; let’s watch it.”

Half an hour in, Claudia was fast asleep. Again, Myka and Helena shared an amused look. Then Myka patted the empty spot beside her on her two-seater. Helena came over, shyly, hopefully, smiling her still-tentative smile. “Hello,” she said quietly. 

“Hey,” Myka said, in equally low tones. “How are you?”

Helena weighed her head. “Acceptable,” she said. “You?”

Myka cast a glance around the room and said, “Same, now that I’m here.”

“This is your place to retreat to?”

Myka nodded. 

Helena smiled a little sadly. “Oh, to have such a place,” she sighed.

Myka’s jaw went slack as she realized that of course, H.G. didn’t. “You can stay here,” she said quickly, emphatically. “If you want. If it would help. As long as you like, as long as you need.”

Helena’s eyes filled, and she looked away quickly, focusing on the TV instead or at least looking in that general direction. 

Myka saw her jaw and mouth work on unsaid words. She reached out, but didn’t quite touch Helena’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “Don’t worry about talking, okay? We can just watch the movie, unwind a little. From where I stand, we have all the time in the world. You’re here, and I’m here, and you can stay however long you want. If that is only for tonight, fine with me; if it’s longer, also fine. Just… I just want you to know that you’re welcome here, okay? No conditions, no ifs or buts, just welcome.”

Helena blinked, and two tears ran down her cheeks. She nodded, but didn’t say a word. After a moment, Myka withdrew her hand but left it in the little open space between them, and resumed watching the movie, too.

A few minutes later, Helena leaned over. Myka held up her arm, and Helena wordlessly snuggled into her side. A few minutes after that, Dickens jumped up and settled on Myka’s lap. Helena didn’t even protest, and they watched the rest of the movie in companionable silence.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, still at the breakfast table, Helena turned to Claudia and said, “Darling, there is one thing I would like to tell you before you leave.”

Claudia, who’d been checking the news, put her phone down with some reluctance. “Yeah?”

“In a way,” Helena went on, “your reaction will help me gauge what to do about it when I return to the Warehouse.”

Now Claudia’s eyebrows rose. “Okay?”

Myka made as if to get up – she was pretty sure she knew what was coming – but Helena’s hand on her wrist held her back. 

“No, Myka, please stay.” Helena shot her a brief smile, then turned to Claudia again. “Claudia, have you ever heard the term ‘bi-gender’?”

Claudia’s eyes went round. “Ohhh,” she said, “that.”

Helena blinked, and her jaw went slack. 

Claudia blushed fiercely and went on, “H.G., I, uh… I know about that one.” She gestured towards Helena. “About you being… able to change, and why.” The color drained from Helena’s face, and Claudia quickly spoke on, “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I told nobody, and I swear I never will. I was just…” She hung her head. “You’re just… you’re so awesome, and I wanted to know everything about you that I could, and…” she gulped. “I may or may not have hacked your restricted file,” she finished in a rush.

Helena took a shuddering breath. Myka reached out and covered Helena’s hand with her own in an attempt to comfort her, and Helena grasped her fingers in a grip of steel. “My restricted file,” she rasped.

Claudia nodded. “I thought I’d find, I don’t know, dashing retrievals, more stuff like the grappler, that kind of thing, but…” She bit her lip, then went on, “I’m sorry. I really am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have. I didn’t think-” she stopped herself and shook her head. “But that doesn’t matter,” she went on. “Doesn’t matter what I thought. It was wrong to do it, and I’m sorry. Anyway, I, uh… I don’t… I don’t mind, you know. If that makes any difference. At all. Don’t mind at all, I mean.”

Helena took a deep breath. “Alright,” she said then, mostly to herself. “Alright.” Her face was stony.

“You’re not mad at me?” Claudia sounded disbelieving, and Myka couldn’t fault her. 

“Oh, I am,” Helena said emphatically, “but what’s done is done, isn’t it. At least it spares me from going through the whole story once more.”

Claudia had shrunken in on herself on Helena’s first words, but bounced back a little after the rest. “I don’t think Pete and Steve would mind either, you know, or Leena. And I mean, Artie doesn’t like you anyway, so screw him if he gives you trouble for this.” She tucked one knee up to her chest and hugged it, then leaned forwards. “Do you want me to… I don’t know, prep the whole thing? Test the waters? Start using ‘they’ instead of ‘she’ when I talk about you?”

“No!” Helena replied at once. “No. Please do not. Not to them, anyway. I will say I like being ‘they’ in general; I like how it is seeing more and more use.” Her face had softened a bit.

“Nothing like being a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old trendsetter, am I right?”

All traces of softness vanished. “I am _not_ one hundred and fifty,” Helena said, stiffly enough to iron shirts on.

Claudia laughed. “Aw, c’mon H.G., it’s not like seven years make a big difference at this point.”

“Come back to me on that one when _you’re_ one hundred and forty-three, young lady.”

Even Myka had to laugh at this one, if only to vent her relief that things had been smoothed over. 

Then Claudia leaned forward even further, dropping her knee again. “Can I… do you have a picture or something? Of, y’know… your male evolution?”

Myka bit back a snort – she understood that reference and was proud of it. 

Helena looked a little more puzzled, but then that look turned to sadness. “I do not,” she said. 

“No way,” Claudia replied incredulously. “Why?”

“Well,” Helena began, “first, I had my Christina very closely after. Since I was nursing her, I couldn’t very well be my male self at the time; and what was more, I didn’t want to confuse her. Charles, who accepted the whole matter much more readily than I had thought, did his best to establish me as his sister, and that meant removing any pictures of me as a boy and young man from circulation. Not that there were many,” she added with a shrug. “Different times. Thus, no photographs currently in my possession. My archived physical file might have one – I’m certain Caturanga kept at least one for me. I take it you haven’t accessed that one, then.”

Claudia shook her head, color high in her cheeks. “Nope.”

Helena nodded. “At least there’s that,” she said. “However, if you truly do want to know, I can…” she hesitated for a moment, then forged on, “I can change. In fact I really rather would, if you two wouldn’t mind; I…” she gestured at herself and said, “this is not who I am today. I do need to change clothes, though.” She tugged at the hem of her blouse with a wry smile. 

Claudia goggled, and even Myka was surprised. Claudia recovered faster, though. “Um, yeah!” she said enthusiastically. 

Two minutes later, George emerged from the bedroom – not as awkwardly as he had in Emmet’s apartment, but not confidently by far either. Dickens immediately ran over to him and rubbed his face on George’s shin, eliciting nothing more than a resigned sigh.

“Whoa,” Claudia said softly. “Dude, you’re gorgeous.” Then she shook herself, cleared her throat, and, in closer to her usual tones, went on, “Not that that’s usually something you’d say about a co-worker, but…” she shook her head. “Wow. I’m jealous. You’re a babe in both evolutions. That’s not fair.”

“One day, you will have to explain this talk of ‘evolutions’ to me,” George said, nudging Dickens aside with his foot and coming back to the table, “but not today.”

“Pinky promise,” Claudia said, wiggling her littlest finger. “Okay, so – do you still go by H.G. though?”

George blushed as he sat down. “You’re the second person to ask me this,” he said, “and I cannot begin to tell you how much it means.” He shot Claudia a smile. “H.G. is fine,” he went on, “and so is George. When I am in my female ‘evolution’, as you call it, H.G. is still fine, as is Helena. And as I told Myka, you can use the gendered pronouns where applicable, or ‘they’ as per what I said earlier.”

Claudia turned to Myka. “So you knew, too?”

Myka nodded. “How I found out is H.G.’s story to tell, though,” she added quickly. 

“Gotcha,” Claudia nodded. Then she chuckled. “Helena George, huh. A bit on the nose, don’t you think, H.G.?”

George grinned. It was a bit bashful, there was a bit of pink in the tips of his ears, but he honest-to-god grinned. Myka’s heart grew light as she saw it. “I never liked the name Herbert,” he said with a small disdainful sniff. 

“Yeah, no, I totally get that,” Claudia agreed. “What’s with the wardrobe, though?” She nodded at H.G.’s outfit, and Myka noticed that the clothes did look far more like what Emmet would wear than something she’d imagine on a male version of Helena. At least the ponytail hadn’t made a re-appearance, but then hairstyles were easier to change than wardrobes.

“I didn’t… Clothes shopping is a tad difficult,” George said. “All my documents, credit cards and so on are in the name of Helena George Wells, and some have a photo of my female face on them. I didn’t think it prudent to attempt to go shopping under those circumstances.”

“Oof, yeah,” Claudia replied. “D’you want me to get you papers? I mean, not like I’ve ever done anything like that,” she added quickly, casting Myka a sidelong glance. “I mean, the Secret Service is kind of not in favor of that kind of thing, am I right?”

Myka snorted a laugh and was just about to answer when George preceded her. “I was rather hoping,” he said, “that the Warehouse would provide once I returned to service.”

“Of course!” Claudia slapped her forehead. “They did so before, after all.”

“And while I lived under a male alias for a while just now,” George went on, answering a question that had been running around Myka’s thoughts, “with male names and photos on documentation, I didn’t want to use those either.”

“Dude, you what?”

George gestured over towards the couches and, once they were all seated, told Claudia the story of Emmet Arnold Lake. 

“The fuck,” Claudia breathed when he was done. “That is so messed up. The Regents suck, man.”

“Well, Kosan at least,” George amended. “The others did oppose him.”

“Not until he’d messed with you, though,” Claudia insisted. Myka found herself agreeing. “That just blows.” She turned to Myka. “So, did you destroy that frickin’ Coin, then?”

Myka shook her head. “Mrs. Frederic took it,” she said. “Apparently there is an extra special secret place where it is stored. I told her,” she added quickly when Claudia took an irate breath, “that that wasn’t enough, and she assured me that the Regents were already working on better self-regulation. The way she told it, Kosan going rogue the way he did shook them too.”

“It better,” Claudia muttered. “ _They_ better. Shit, man, what a mess. I’m so sorry.” That last sentence was addressed to George. 

“Thank you, Claudia,” George replied with a graceful tilt of his head. 

“Dude, that is so weird,” Claudia said under her breath. “Like, when you do that, that’s totally a gesture I know, but you look so different. Kind of a disconnect, you know what I mean?”

“I’m sure we’ll get used to it,” Myka said quickly, shooting Claudia a warning glance. If either of them, Claudia or Myka, were uncomfortable with H.G. being who they were, _they_ – she and Claudia – needed to come to terms with that, not H.G.

“I do understand the difficulty,” George said. “But I appreciate your willingness to accept me.” He smiled at Myka. 

“Frakk,” Claudia shook her head, “both of your evolutions are into her.”

Myka almost swallowed her tongue.

George turned back to Claudia. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, darling: I am one person,” he said patiently. “I am Helena George Wells. Some days I wake and feel that I am male, some days, female. Sometimes I feel like the same gender for days or weeks at a time; sometimes it changes multiple times a day. And it isn’t a whim, either,” he added emphatically. “This isn’t me wishing for my male body’s reach when I am in my female one and fail to reach a book on the top shelf. This is showering and realizing the body you’re in feels _wrong_ , unbearably at odds with how you feel on the inside, to the point where you cannot even look at yourself. Being able to adapt my physical body is a blessing in many ways, but it does make some things difficult, like in this instance – though _you_ see two somewhat different exteriors, as it were, I am still _one_ person, the same person, on the inside. Think of a swing, if you will – sometimes it is on this side of the equilibrium, sometimes on the other, but it is always the same swing; only a few of its aspects, such as speed and direction, are different.” He looked at Claudia, waiting to see if she’d understood. When she nodded, he went on, “As for the question of whether or not I am ‘into her’,” and he did _not_ look at Myka at this point, which she took notice of, “that is, quite honestly, meaningless in this context. Because no matter what I might feel, it does _not_ depend upon what cut of trousers I wear.”

Myka’s heart seemed to stop, then resume its beating at twice the usual speed. Did George mean-

Claudia’s squeal, complete with clasped hands, interrupted Myka’s thought. “That wasn’t a no! Oh, you’re so cute!” she exclaimed. Then she calmed down a little, and added, “Okay, okay, I get it, I get it. Sorry for getting it wrong before. I promise I’ll do better. But you’re so cute about Myka!!” She scrunched up her nose. “And it’s good that you are, because that way I know you’re off limits, so I won’t get the wrong idea and I probably should stop talking now.”

“Probably,” George agreed dryly. “Please note that I have not, in fact, confirmed your hypothesis.”

“Oh come on,” Claudia protested. “That was totally a conf-” George glared at her and she swallowed whatever she’d wanted to say. “Fine,” she said instead. “Sure, be that way. I still ship it, and you can’t make me stop.”

George shook his head. “Since I still have no idea what you mean by that, I shall simply satisfy myself with you dropping the matter.” Then he cast a sidelong glance at Myka. “Are you alright? You seem a little pale.”

Myka blinked, realized her mouth stood open, and snapped it shut. “I’m… I’m f-fine,” she stuttered. “Fine.”

“Aaand this is my cue,” Claudia announced and got up. “You guys, I’m getting out of here. Leave you two to whatever you get up to, in your lonely old house in the woods and so on.” And in a much shorter time than Myka would have thought, the young agent was gone.

“Should I take my leave, too?” George said as Claudia drove off. He nodded towards the pile of paint cans and assorted equipment on the deck. “I would hate to be keeping you from what you want to do.”

“Do you _want_ to leave?” Myka asked back, one hand at her hip and her head tilted, too.

George blinked. “No,” he said after a moment’s cogitation.

Myka smiled at him. “I meant what I said yesterday, you know. Mi casa es su casa, for as long as you like. So stay. Please.”

And just like yesterday, George’s eyes filled with tears again. “I should like that,” he said in a hoarse voice. 

“Fine by me,” Myka said, gently but determined not to let him get all maudlin. “You can help me finish the deck.”

Even with two people, it took the better part of the day. The sheer mundanity of the task helped ground them both, Myka knew. A clear objective, easily reached by diligence and hard if repetitive work – and limited need for interactions, based mostly on things like ‘are you using that brush right now’ and ‘I’m done over here, which part would you like me to start on next’. Every now and then, one of them would take pity on Dickens, who had taken up resentful residence right behind the glass porch door, and go inside and feed the cat, then resume their deck job again. They worked well together, and it was reassuring, comforting, how easy it went. 

And it was infectious to see how much George loved to be in his body. The intervening weeks had certainly helped him get used to it again, or comfortable in it again, or whatever you wanted to call it.

As usual, Myka had turned on the boom box for entertainment, and every now and then, she’d see George dancing to a song, or at the very least incorporating some moves while he painted the railing. Myka could barely make a move towards a new paint can without him jumping up and towards her, ‘let me, please’, and opening it for her, and while with any other man this would have annoyed her no end, George’s enthusiasm and pride was endearing.

And then he got paint on his pants, and pitched a fit of Victorian profanities so eloquent that Myka had to hold on to the doorframe, she was laughing so hard.

“I fail to see what’s so amusing,” he snapped. “I only have one other pair of trousers.”

“Then we’ll go _buy_ ones,” Myka said. “I wanted to go to Boulder this week anyway; I’m out of tofu and the local store doesn’t have any. We’ll make a day trip out of it, what do you say?”

“I will say,” he replied stiffly, “that I have no means of paying for new trousers, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Well, then _I’ll_ pay for them and you just transfer me the money,” Myka said with a shrug. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

George looked as though he wanted to retort something, but bit off whatever it was.

“Look,” Myka said, trying to mollify him, “let’s just wash these pants tonight. Maybe the spot will wash out. This is water-based paint, after all. We’ll give them a good soak first. I’ve had paint come out of my pants. We’ll see, okay?”

George took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s alright,” Myka said. “I get being mortified of ruining your clothes. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and I grew so fast as a teenager I legit had only two pairs of good pants – as in, pants I could wear to school – for three years running. I totally get it. Back then, it would have been the end of the world for me to have to explain to my mom that I got paint on one of them.”

George nodded, and his eyes softened a little. “I had not even thought about the possibility of you advancing me the funds to buy clothes,” he admitted. “And I should have. It is a fairly obvious solution.”

“Yep.” Myka bit back that it wasn’t the only one; she could think of at least two other, perfectly legal options right there and then, but she knew that saying as much wouldn’t sit well with H.G., so she just smiled at him. “You do tend to get a bit caught up in your own thoughts,” she said. “Which, you know, happens to all of us every now and then. Just… if you feel like you’re stuck, like you’re getting nowhere with something, just let me know, okay? And we can see if we can figure it out together.”

George seemed about to protest, then snapped his mouth shut and nodded. He pressed his lips together, then snorted in frustration. “I feel like an idiot now.”

“Also something that happens to all of us every now and then,” Myka said, and then told him about the time she’d tried to install a self-closing screen door, all six failed attempts of it before she’d figured out that she’d put in one particular part the wrong way around. “I’m pretty sure if you’d been around at the time, you’d have taken one look at it and could’ve told me what was wrong.”

This one a smile from George. “Probably,” he admitted. 

Myka grinned back at him. “C’mon, let’s get your pants soaking.”

This time, when George pressed his lips together, it was with a completely different facial expression, and after a heartbeat, Myka realized what she’d just said and burst out laughing. And this time, George joined her.

They watched a movie that evening too – Much Ado About Nothing, as per George’s choice. He sat down next to Myka from the beginning, though far enough away that Myka didn’t offer her arm, a fact Dickens took advantage of by placing himself right between them. George ignored him and paid much more attention to this movie than to yesterday’s feature. Myka enjoyed the commentary he kept up, the questions and observations. She knew the movie by heart, after all, and he did pay attention when she told him to. 

When even their discussion of Shakespeare and the ways H.G. viewed his works vs. the way Myka viewed his work had died down, Myka hesitantly put forward something she’d been thinking about more and more since the movie had ended. “If you want to,” she said, feeling oddly shy about it, “you don’t… um, have to sleep in the guest bedroom.” She well remembered holding him, remembered how he’d sought her closeness right before waking up fully. “I’m not talking sex,” she added hastily, “just… just comfort. If you want. It’s okay if you don’t. Both is fine with me. Just, if you want some, you know, nearness, we can do that.”

George took a deep breath and Myka knew he’d decline even before he spoke. Still, he surprised her. “I appreciate your offer,” he said. “Truly, I do. I well remember the morning I woke up in your arms.” For a moment, she could see plain and undisguised longing in his eyes. Then he looked away. “I’m afraid I have an incredibly hard time sleeping next to someone, though. I…” he shook his head helplessly. “Every time they move, I am on high alert. Even if you did not move at all, simply your presence would keep me awake. If I shared your bed, I would not get a wink of sleep.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “And I… I _need_ sleep. It seems that somehow exhaustion has finally caught up with me. Right after my unbronzing, I barely found any sleep at all; that persisted all the way until Emmet, who slept like a log – perhaps that is one positive outcome of this whole mess. Ever since I was reunited with my physical body, I have had no trouble sleeping, and I have found that it truly does me good.”

“Gotcha,” Myka said immediately. “I totally get that. I used to be super peculiar about my sleep, until I started Secret Service training – that taught me to sleep wherever, whenever, to be glad of any nap I got. So, yeah, I get you. By all means get the sleep you need in the way you need it. There _are_ enough bedrooms to accommodate that,” she added with a smile.

“Really? It is truly not a problem?”

“Okay listen,” Myka said and sat up straighter. “I know I haven’t told you all that much about my family, but my dad, right, he’s the kind of guy who never, _ever_ , tells you what’s on his mind, but who’ll also expect everyone around him to read his thoughts. And I _hate_ that. He will totally tell you that he doesn’t mind something, when really he _does_ _fucking well_ mind, and he’ll expect you to know the difference. I don’t. I will _never_. When I tell you I don’t mind, _I do not mind_. And when I do mind, you _will_ know. That thing?” she gestured towards the TV. “Benedick and Beatrice?” She shook her head. “Would never fly with me. Whenever I listen to them, I wanna _shake_ them and tell them to speak plainly already. You know?”

George’s eyebrows were up at his hairline. “Duly noted,” he said soberly. “And I shall endeavor to communicate plainly, too – the last thing I want is for you to want to shake me, or for me to remind you of your father.”

Myka snorted. “Appreciated,” she told him with a grin.

The smile he gave her in return was all Helena – at least that’s how Myka had always thought of it. The tiniest twitch of his mouth, the deep sparkle of amusement in his eyes, the slight downwards tilt of his head. It didn’t help that his cheekbones were just as sharp, that his eyes had the same cant to them, that his hair was just as full and lush. Myka had always loved this smile, and found it made no difference at all that it now came from a face that had a five-o’clock-shadow. 

George looked away suddenly, startling Myka out of her thoughts. “I… should head to bed, then,” he said, rising from the couch. “Good night, Myka.”

And before Myka could so much as blink, he was gone.

Myka stared after him. What on Earth had just happened? 

When Claudia had teased him earlier about being into Myka, he _hadn’t_ really said he wasn’t, but now Myka wasn’t so sure. 

Just because she had realized that she loved him – them – didn’t mean that the feeling was reciprocated. First rule of friends with benefits was don’t catch feelings, after all. She _had_ , okay, alright, but that didn’t mean H.G. had too. Maybe they simply wanted to stay friends, with or without benefits. Maybe them staying away so long had been meant to help them figure that out. Maybe-

Maybe they’d seen something in Myka’s eyes just now that had revealed too much. 

Fuck.

Myka sank into the sofa’s backrest. 

Obviously H.G. had enough on their plate right now – _more_ than enough, really – without having to worry about how Myka did or didn’t feel about them. 

Right? 

Like, they needed a friend. A _friend_. To give them some _stability_ while they _figured stuff out_. Right?   
Not someone who suddenly realized she’d caught feelings and upended any kind of stability out of the blue.

Fuck. 

Okay, she could do this. She could be a friend. She could be supportive. And she would.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More info about H.G.'s bi-gender background. And a surprisingly helpful Brad.

Clothes shopping with George was an experience. By sheer, enviable luck, he had just the kind of body that current fashion trends loved to dress. And by inclination, H.G. Wells was, Myka knew, a sucker for dressing fashionably. 

And Boulder was just about large enough to have excellent shopping opportunities for the fashionably inclined.

And then, in his excitement, George forgot the plan, and handed the sales clerk his credit card. It happened too fast even for Myka to realize that something had gone wrong when the woman spoke up. “Umm, Ms. … ter, um Wells, sir, I’m, um gonna need some form of photo ID, please?”

Myka froze, and all the elation that had been on George’s face congealed in an instant. His mouth opened and shut a few times. Then another sales clerk came over, and Myka found she could move again. She, too, took a step towards the check-out, but by then sales clerk #2 had arrived, a man in his late twenties, preppy and gelled up, every inch the corporate representative. “Everything alright here?” he asked. 

“Brad, this… just…” his colleague stuttered, then handed him the credit card. “Look at that, will you?”

Brad took one look at the card and then looked up at George and the veritable mountain of outfits on the check-out desk. Then his face softened, and his hand sank down. “First time?” he asked quietly. “Shopping at the men’s, I mean?”

George shook, as though the words had hit him in his core, and Myka stepped to his side quickly. He looked at her with a shaky smile, then straightened. Nodded. Said, “Yes,” in a clear, firm voice.

Brad smiled back. “I got you, sir,” he said, then turned to his colleague and said, “C’mon, Susan, we’ve been through this only last month. It’s really not that hard, is it?”

George quickly shook his head and said, “She didn’t do anything wrong, surely. It is perfectly reasonable to ask for an ID in such a case, after all.” He smiled at Susan, too, and added, “And you did correct your form of address admirably, I must say.” He pulled out his driver’s license and handed it to her. “Here you go. I’m sure this is company policy, and I’d hate for you to get into trouble.”

Susan took the driver’s license almost shyly, and Myka bit back a smile of her own at how enchanted the woman seemed. While the two sales people completed the transaction, though, she could feel George shake next to her, and knew that he was nowhere near as unaffected by the whole thing as he seemed.

“Here you go, sir,” Brad said finally, handing over the two cards and five bags’ worth of clothing. “I took the liberty of taking twenty percent off your sum total, sir, as an apology – I hope you’re okay with that. It was a pleasure to do business with you; please _do_ come again. Have a good day, the two of you, alright?” And while most of those were business platitudes, his smile was sincere.

“Likewise,” George replied. He seemed almost calm as he put credit card and driver’s license back in his wallet, almost calm as he took the bags, almost calm as Myka and he headed back to the parking lot, almost calm as he dropped the bags into the back seat. 

And then he collapsed into the passenger seat and burst into tears. 

“Hey,” Myka called softly, opening the passenger door back up and bending in to him, glad that they’d taken her larger car and that he was seated high enough for her to reach easily. The hug was still awkward, but it beat leaning over a middle console by far. 

George’s trembling was much more pronounced now; his teeth were chattering. “Adrenaline,” he muttered at some point.

Myka nodded. “Hell of a drug,” she said. “I know.” And she held him some more. 

Then, after a while, he added, “They were so kind about it.”

Myka nodded again. “Yeah, they were, weren’t they?”

He detached himself and brought out a handkerchief to wipe his face. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Sorry I fell apart like that.”

Myka gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “Nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t remind you to let me pay.”

“Oh, please don’t be,” he said, looking up at her. “It was I who forgot, after all. Please excuse me for a moment.” And he turned delicately away from her to blow his nose. Then he said, “It could have gone worse, I think.” He cleared his throat and looked back up at her. “Can we… is there anything nearby where we could be in nature for a bit? It is such a beautiful day, and I’d hate to let this one occasion taint it. I do want to go to the other stores you mentioned, and that lovely restaurant. I just…”

“Absolutely,” Myka said immediately. Her mind was already presenting her with several alternatives. “There’s Boulder Creek, if you just want to wander around with houses on one side and the Creek on the other. Plenty of trees there, and benches to sit down, but also other people. If you don’t want those, we can head out past Flagstaff – there are a few trailheads there.”

George raised his eyebrows almost daintily. “My shoes are not fit for hiking, I don’t think,” he said. “And while I’m always in the market for new shoes in general, now, I believe, is not the time.”

“Boulder Creek it is, then,” Myka smiled. “It’s just a short drive from here. Sound good?”

“By all means.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’d found an empty bench overlooking Boulder Creek. Through green-leafed trees, the sun shone down on them. 

Myka could see George’s shoulders lose some of their tension as he leaned back. “Better?” she asked.

“Much, thank you.” George inhaled deeply. “I used to like going for a walk,” he said. “One of my favorite pastimes in England, when I had the time – I’d envision all kinds of stories as I walked, sometimes down to the most minute detail. Or I’d ponder a problem that had me stumped in the workshop.” He looked around at the brook and the trees, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes to the sunshine. “Not many such green places in South Dakota,” he sighed. 

Myka nodded. “My dorm was not far from here,” she said. “I miss it sometimes. Quite apart from the fact that college life seems so much simpler, in retrospect.”

“In retrospect, much does.” George agreed. “Even just having a term to put to how I felt as a child makes it seem simpler. Oh, the concept of a person with ambiguous _physical_ sexual characteristics was well-known enough, but for a child to say ‘but I am not a boy today, mummy’ was unheard of. My parents loved me enough to not dismiss it outright, but their reaction was to introduce me to doctors, and I quickly learned that the results of that could be… dire.”

Myka nodded. She still remembered the distaste that, as a hologram talking to Emmet, Helena had shown the idea of Bedlam. Their aversion gained a new context now. “Were you…” she wondered how to ask this in polite words, and settled on, “treated for it in any way?”

“You mean was I hospitalized?” When Myka nodded, George smiled at her. “Thankfully, no. Both my parents were quite put off by what they saw when they, and I, visited one such institution. I never uttered another word about not feeling like a boy at times; my parents were happy to let the matter lie, too.” He swallowed, looking out on the brook again. “I was seven,” he added quietly.

“God,” Myka breathed. Unthinkingly, she reached out, and just as quickly, he took her hand. 

“This is…” George broke off and squeezed her hand, and Myka realized that he was fighting tears again. “This is the first time I have talked about this matter in…” he laughed sadly, “a hundred years and more.”

“I’m so sorry,” Myka said. Her eyes were brimming too. 

George squeezed her hand once more, then held it in a looser grasp. “I did have Caturanga,” he said quietly, “back in London. It is fair to say, I think, that he saved my life. He, and my father. Because while I might not have said anything about the matter anymore, my father had not forgotten; and one day, he… he overheard a member of his cricket team, an Indian player, tell a Hindu tale about a king who went into a forbidden forest and was turned into a woman. It took my father a while to build up enough courage to approach Ranga, and that he even took the time to do so is testament to how much he cared. And that meant a lot – I cried when he came to tell me about the community Ranga was part of, and of how they had stories that were at least somewhat related to my ‘condition’, as he called it.” George smiled. “He cried too, when he realized that my tears were happy tears. It was quite the moment for the two of us. 

“My father introduced me to Ranga and his friends, and later took me to a lecture of Swami Vivekananda when the Swami visited England. Ranga introduced me to the Swami, and it was the first time that I was able to talk about my ‘condition’ with someone who not only took me seriously, but had answers – answers rooted more in religion than science, but at least they were _answers_. Leads, if nothing else. They told me that what I felt existed, was real enough for centuries of monks and scholars to have contemplated. You cannot imagine how that made me feel.”

Myka nodded. She couldn’t, but she could empathize. George cast her a quick smile and, just as briefly, squeezed her hand. 

Then he went on, “Through Ranga’s community, I met Caturanga, a few years later when I’d won a scholarship to study in London. He was a scholar, or so he was introduced to me at the time. He offered me access to his texts and knowledge, and thus when I took up my university studies, I divided my time between biology and medicine lectures and his library. However, make no mistake – though I did not mention it until now, I was suffering. 

“Vacillating between feeling like a boy and a girl was… manageable as a child, when all I had to do was pretend to be a boy so that I’d be allowed to go to class. Once I entered puberty, though…” George sighed and gritted his teeth. “There were days when I detested my body, its developments, my voice, my chest, my… private parts, everything – it seemed like mockery when, on other days, I felt at ease within my skin, almost proud of how I was growing, of how my mustache started coming in, how my body hardened with muscle.” George paused. Myka could see a muscle work in his cheek. “My brother,” he went on, “was not much help – he, younger than me, looked up to me, and due to the urgings of my parents, I never told him about my ‘condition’. So I had to be the brother he looked up to, even on days when I did not feel like a brother at all. And on some days, that made it bearable, because I did love him dearly; on others, it only made things worse.” George then huffed out a humorless laugh. “And don’t ask me about the times I fell in love,” he said quietly. “Not only could I, apparently, not make up my mind if I _was_ a boy or a girl, but I also couldn’t decide if I _liked_ boys or girls, either.”

Myka made a small, commiserating noise, and George smiled at her again. 

“Thank you for listening to my woes,” he said.

Myka squeezed his hand. “Thank _you_ ,” she replied, “for telling me. For trusting me.”

George’s smile deepened. “Always,” he said.

The word landed squarely in Myka’s heart and tugged at all of its strings, and suddenly she found herself hugging George, hard. His arms closed around her a moment of surprise later, and she could feel him take a long, shuddering breath. Then, as a biker zipped by them, he gently disentangled himself. 

“Thank you for that, too,” he said. 

Myka just nodded, unsure what to say and terrified of saying something wrong. 

“Shall I go on?”

“Please,” Myka said. “If you don’t mind, of course. I mean, I’d like to hear more, but if it’s too hard…”

“It is by no means easy,” George said, “but if I stop now, I don’t know if I’ll find the courage to resume at a later date.” He leaned back against the bench. His hand sought out Myka’s, and he interlaced their fingers again. “Like I said, it was a hard time. I struggled. I found solace in my studies with Caturanga, in a way, but elsewhere, otherwise, all I found was rejection and denial, or at best pathologization. It made me wonder if I was sane; it made me wonder if I was ill, if there was some way in which I could get better, could get over this ‘condition’ of mine. Caturanga tried his best; to him it was truth that I was as I was, and was whole and healthy as I was, but I could not see it that way – at all.” He took another deep breath. His voice dropped to a whisper as he went on, “I attempted suicide for the first time at age nineteen.”

Again, his words hit Myka deep inside. ‘For the first time’ especially rang in her ears. She held his hand tightly – he _was here_ , right next to her. He had made it through.

“I was at home for Christmas,” George went on. “My father found me, and he didn’t understand. Wasn’t it good that I had Ranga and his friends, that I had my health and my youth and a spot at a university and a good perspective of becoming a doctor?” He gritted his teeth. “He didn’t understand why those things weren’t enough. After I recuperated and moved back to London, we never spoke of it again. I tried to apply myself more to my studies, to have them be enough, to be the child, the son, he could be proud of; the first in the family to gain an academic degree, the first to better himself and leave a mark upon this world.” He sounded supremely bitter on those last words. 

“You did that, though,” Myka said, unable to hold the words back. “The world knows your name.”

“They don’t know me, though,” George said. “They think they know H.G. Wells, but even the photographs of who everyone thinks is me are of my brother instead.” He shook his head. “I appreciate your intentions, Myka, I truly do, but no. The world does not know me.”

“I do,” Myka said, much more quietly. A tear ran down her face and she dashed it aside impatiently. “I do. I know I don’t know your whole story yet, but I know you.”

“And that means more to me than I could possibly tell you.” George looked at her intently, then, with infinite gentleness, brushed another tear from her cheek. “I did not mean to make you cry, Myka.”

“I know,” Myka said, biting the inside of her cheek to stem the flow. She swallowed once, twice, blinked away the rest of the tears and inhaled sharply through her nose. “I’m sorry. Please… please go on. If you like.”

“I shall skip over the other attempt, then,” George said, with a small, self-deprecating smile. “That time, it was Caturanga who found me, and who realized that I was twisting myself so hard to be something that I was not that I was at my breaking point. He introduced me to the Warehouse, and he said that I was welcome to it as a place of recourse while I finished my studies. And he – very gravely, and with many an admonishment that artifacts were not meant to be used for personal gain – showed me one artifact in particular, and gave me a heavy scroll of a file on it, in Sanskrit, to translate into English. 

“It took me another year – I was twenty-three by that time and had just received my degree in biology – a year of full-time and diligent work on learning the language, learning Hindu mythology and practices, and applying myself to knowledge more than I ever had before, to finish the task. My conclusion left me breathless: it seemed to indicate that if used the correct way, the artifact would be able to give me the ability – not to be like everyone else, which was what I had originally wanted, but to change my body at will to fit how I felt within. It took me another month to contemplate if that was what I truly wanted; to imagine living that way – a double life, in a way; with few if any who knew the full truth of who I was. I spent many an evening talking with Caturanga about the ramifications of such a change, and his counsel was invaluable.” He cast her a quick smile. “As you said so eloquently, I do tend to get stuck inside my thoughts at times, and Caturanga refused to let me become mired that way.”

Myka nodded her understanding. “I’m glad you had him,” she said.

“Oh, so am I,” George said with feeling. “So am I. When I asked to be allowed to use the artifact, he agreed, and even helped me set it up in the correct way. It required following an ancient ritual, and some of the accoutrements were difficult to come by. He also helped me set myself up for the aftermath, which I knew would be taxing.” He laughed softly. “In a way,” he amended. He turned to look fully at Myka and said, “You see, the downside, if you will, of using said artifact, was that I would be stuck, for a full year, in a female body, and that I would give birth to a child during that time.”

Myka’s mouth dropped open. 

George actually chuckled. “My reaction as well,” he said, “when I understood that part. The artifact is at the heart of the story of King Sudyumna, who trespassed the goddess Parvati’s sacred grove and was turned, in punishment, into a woman by the name of Ila – the story my father had heard Ranga speak of. Ila then caught the eye of the god Budha, married him, and bore his child. Just a quick summary, of course; the story itself is long and has many variants, and I could tell you about it all afternoon, but,” he chuckled again, “that’s not what we are here for. So, to come back to _my_ tale, I completed the ritual, and found myself in a female body for the first time in my life.” His smile grew brilliant. “It felt… indescribable. I was in tears for most of the first day, and couldn’t keep clothes on to save my life, I must admit.”

Myka snorted a surprised laugh. “What?”

“I could not believe it!” George said, as if that was explanation enough. “I needed to see it – me, my female form. Goodness, I found myself exceedingly attractive, and that was… a bit difficult to navigate, at least at first.”

Myka rolled her eyes fondly. “I can only imagine,” she said, trying not to smile. H.G. had every reason to find herself – themselves – attractive, after all.

George blushed, heaved a sigh, and hung his head. “I think it came as no surprise when I did find myself pregnant,” he said. “I enjoyed my female body, and I did my best, my utmost, to enjoy it responsibly, but…” he shrugged. “Contraceptive measures of the late nineteenth century were nowhere near as effective as today’s. And it wasn’t a surprise, after all; I’d known it was coming, and had prepared for it as much as I’d been able to. My family had been told that I was undertaking post-graduate studies in Berlin, so they did not expect any visits; I had lodgings in Caturanga’s household and was looked after well as my pregnancy progressed, and, in due course, I birthed a daughter. I wanted to name her after Ila, or Parvati, but Caturanga advised against it – my daughter was not Indian, and giving her an Indian name would create difficulties, he feared. And since I had witnessed those difficulties closely enough as a member of his household, I agreed. I chose the name Christina instead because I wanted to show gratitude for _any_ divine intervention that had given me this gift. For the first time in my life, I was myself; I could _be_ myself, to the fullest. I did not mind the subterfuge I had to live with; I did not mind the double life I needed to live. I was happy; incredibly, achingly happy.” His face lost its fondness and grew stricken. “And then I lost her. You… you know the rest.”

Myka nodded, and cleared her throat before saying, “Yeah. I… Thank you, George.” She squeezed his hand. 

“Thank _you_ ,” he replied, mirroring her earlier words, “for listening.”

And, with a smile, she echoed him. “Always.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted is by Henry van Dyke.

Having H.G. Wells as a housemate was… 

Heaven.

And hell, too, in some moments. 

Because for every quiet evening spent on the couch watching a DVD, there was a moment when Myka wanted nothing better than to not just hug H.G. but kiss them. For every dinner cooked together, there was a moment when Myka wanted to press H.G. against the new countertop (and installing that together had been fun, actual fun) and not just kiss them, but kiss them senseless and then some. For every hike they took together – after acquiring appropriate boots – there was a moment when Myka wanted to walk next to H.G. for the rest of her fucking life; not as housemates, but as lovers, as partners, as-

As spouses. 

Fuck it, she had _dreams_ of their _wedding_.

And of their wedding _night_. 

There had been a moment when, as they were watching a movie, H.G. had actually fallen asleep on Myka’s shoulder. Not just nodded off – fallen asleep deeply enough to snore softly. And Myka had barely been able to contain what she felt at that. When H.G. had woken up, they’d given Myka a look of utter incredulousness, and then a smile of such shy amazement that Myka had absolutely and unashamedly teared up. 

She knew she was watching them for signs of how well she and H.G. would work as a couple. She had so far ascertained that they budgeted and spent money differently; not a problem since they both had their own income and did not have a shared household (yet, a treacherous little part of Myka’s brain added to that). That they were compatible when it came to keeping the cabin orderly and clean – very important; H.G. was even more fussy than her, if that was possible. That Helena’s knife skills were marginally better than her own, and that George was clumsier in general, but that H.G.’s porridge was a dream Myka wouldn’t mind eating for breakfast for the rest of her life. 

This was getting ridiculous. 

H.G. made no move whatsoever to change the status quo – of course they didn’t, Myka told herself. Stability. That’s what they were searching for, that’s what they would find. 

And then one rainy morning, Helena spoke up at the breakfast table, setting down her cup of tea with a small sigh. “This is the longest I’ve been in one place since I was unbronzed.”

Myka’s stomach plummeted. Was that a precursor to Helena saying she’d leave? “O…kay,” she said slowly. 

Helena turned to her and smiled. “Thank you for offering me this place,” she said, and it didn’t help Myka’s fears one bit, not even the smile. “It means a lot that you’re allowing me to share it.” 

“Of course,” Myka said quickly, trying not to panic. “However long you like. You know that, right?”

Helena’s smile grew. “I do. It gives me a peace of mind I have not known for…” she shook her head, “a long time.” She reached out and put her hand atop Myka’s. “Truly, thank you, Myka.”

“You’re- you’re welcome,” Myka stammered. “Helena, are you… are you okay?”

Helena raised her eyebrows. “Frankly, more okay than I have been in an equally long time,” she said. “Myka, is there something wrong? Do you… is this arrangement getting on your nerves? Should I leave?”

“No!” Myka exclaimed, and now her panic was in full flight, and came out in her voice too. “No,” she repeated more softly. “Unless, of course, you want to.”

Helena blinked. Tilted her head. Subjected Myka to a piercing gaze. “Myka, in memory of what you told me about how to communicate, I would like to ask your honest reply: would you like me to leave or stay?”

Myka pulled in a shuddering breath. “I would… I would like whatever makes you feel better,” she said, trying to bite down the tears that were tickling the corners of her eyes.

Helena’s eyebrows rose further. “And if, just for the sake of argument, it made no difference to me – what would your reply be then?”

Myka pressed her lips together and swallowed. She felt like squirming, but Helena’s gaze had her pinned. She didn’t want to say anything; didn’t want to make H.G. do something just for her sake and not because it would help them.

Helena’s eyes softened, and she gently closed her fingers around Myka’s hand. “Please,” she said, “tell me.”

Myka couldn’t help herself. “Stay,” she whispered. “Please. Please stay.” Then she clamped her mouth shut, afraid of all the other words that she wanted to say.

Helena’s face broke into a beaming smile. “Of course I will,” she said fervently, squeezing Myka’s hand. “I was hoping you would say that.” Then her expression turned somber, and she dropped her gaze. “I will say,” she went on, “that…” her voice broke away. Then she took a deep breath and finished, “That there hasn’t been a day when I… when I contemplated leaving.”

Instantly, Myka was on high alert again. “Leaving?” she asked weakly. Back in the hotel, Helena had said something along those lines, too, hadn’t she? That the thought of Myka and her embracing panicked her, that it made her want to flee? ‘Run away and hope you would never come looking,’ Myka’s brain supplied readily.

This time, Helena’s smile was shaky. “Myka, I am not used to… no, that isn’t quite it. Let me think on how best to put this, alright?”

Myka blinked. “Okay.” Her heart beat in her throat. Whatever it was that Helena wanted to say, it sounded dire. 

“The last time I was in any one place for such a long time,” Helena said, “before being in the bronze, of course, was when Christina and I lived in Caturanga’s household. And just as I am happy now, here, I was happy then, but-” she broke off and pressed her lips together. “But it didn’t last,” she said tonelessly. When Myka drew breath to speak, she held up her free hand and said, “Hear me out, please. This is difficult to express, and yet express it I must, for you to fully understand my quandary.”

Myka nodded. “Okay,” she said again, and once more her voice was shaky. 

“Thank you.” Helena shot her a quick smile. Then her face grew serious again. “After Christina’s death, I was driven. Wild with grief and the desire, no: the need, to find a way to save her. And I couldn’t bear to be in a place that held so many happy memories. So I left, not just to travel the world in search for an answer, but to flee the sights, sounds, scents of a home that, without my child, was nothing but ashes anymore, be it still standing.” She took another long breath, and then went on, “Being here, and being so… at ease, at peace, so…” she inhaled sharply, pursed her mouth, bit the inside of her lip, then finally said, “happy, I… I find myself afraid.” She looked at Myka with unguarded eyes, and through her own fear, Myka could see the fear in hers. “Desperately afraid,” Helena went on, tonelessly and shakily, “to lose this again. Myka, it would undo me. I…” she fell silent, and her mouth worked for a few moments, before she shook her head and gave up on whatever she wanted to say. “And so in my fear, I sometimes wonder if leaving now, on my own free will, would mitigate the blow. And in my darker moments, the dread of losing… this, becomes so convincing that I’m halfway certain that I _need_ to leave, need to save myself, by distancing myself, by withdrawing and denying I could ever again be attached to anything or anyone so deeply.” She pointed out the window to her sedan. “Myka, I have sat in that car, keys in the ignition, hands on the wheel, not even a bag in the trunk but ready to leave, willing, _anxious_ to leave, before my good sense caught up with me. And even then it was a quarrel. Thrice, I sat there, and thrice I did not leave, but-” she dropped her gaze and looked aside, biting the inside of her cheek again. “I am scared. So scared,” she finished.

Myka, who was worrying the inside of her own cheek, nodded weakly. “I understand,” she said, and found that her voice still quavered. She swallowed, and willed it to be stronger. “I really, really understand,” she repeated, and tried very hard to focus that, obviously, Helena had won her quarrel, had stayed. “Helena, the thing is – you are welcome here. You can be at home here. _This_ can be your home, _I_ can be y-” she caught herself short, and simply said, “your friend. All of this is here for you, if you want it, but _you have to want it_. Okay? _You_ have to give yourself license to stay, to trust in this; _you_ have to believe that you deserve this, that you _can have_ this. And if it takes leaving for you to realize that, leaving and coming back and finding me here again, then that’s how it is. If that helps, if you need to do that, I will not stop you. And if staying here longer helps you find that trust, then I won’t stop you either; either way, whatever you choose, I will- I’ll _cheer_ you _on_ , okay? As long as you make your decisions based on _what will help you feel better_ , I’m fine with _anything_ you choose, I need you to know that, Helena.” She took a deep breath and, in a softer voice, repeated, “H.G., I need you to know that.”

Helena was crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks unchecked. “Myka, _you_ help me feel better. But I can’t even bring myself to believe that I deserve you,” she said in a broken voice. 

“Oh, baby, baby, no,” Myka said, rushing from her chair and pulling Helena from hers to wrap her in an embrace. “You _have_ me, okay? You will always have me. Always always always, I promise. I promise.”

A big, wrenching sob tore from Helena’s throat, and she held on to Myka’s shoulders – Myka half-held her up, too; Helena’s knees were buckling. Myka steered the two of them over to the couch so she could sit down and pull Helena into her lap, where Helena curled into the smallest ball of heartbrokenness Myka had ever witnessed. It seemed as though Helena wanted to crawl into Myka and vanish in her, or barring that, simply curl in on herself and vanish into thin air. She was crying so desperately that even Myka trembled with her sobs, that Dickens came, from wherever he’d been sleeping, and climbed onto Helena’s lap to try and soothe her. And Helena actually let it happen; more: ran her hands over his fur even though they were shaking. She held him, and Myka held her, whispering reassurance into her ear, holding back very firmly from pressing kisses onto her hair.

It took a long time for Helena’s crying to subside. Bit by bit, it did; bit by bit, she relaxed, and so did Myka. 

“I’m so dreadfully sorry,” Helena said after a last sniffle. Dickens, sensing that the storm was over, mewled and fidgeted, and she let him go. He hopped off the couch and sauntered over to his food bowl, confident that he’d done his job well and now deserved his reward. 

Myka smiled after him, then turned back to Helena. “It’s alright, b- um, Helena,” she said, then bit her tongue for slipping up. She couldn’t very well call H.G. ‘baby’; that wasn’t right. Not something a friend would say. Bad enough she’d said it earlier. “Sometimes you gotta just let it all out,” she added. She noticed that Helena had made no move to get out of her embrace; Myka had no intention of letting go either, unless and until Helena wanted to. And that didn’t seem to be the case: Helena seemed perfectly content to remain leaned against Myka’s shoulder, and so Myka was perfectly content to leave her arms around Helena’s waist.

Then, Helena did sit up straighter, and Myka opened her arms to let her go. Helena quickly turned aside and covered her face with her hands. “I must look a frightful mess,” she said. 

“Hey,” Myka said, keeping her voice very, very soft and her fingers very, very gentle as she took Helena’s hands and pulled them away from her face. Helena let it happen, and while her lips trembled, she did not hide from Myka’s gaze. Her face was splotchy, and wet, and raw with emotion, and Myka found her eyes roaming Helena’s features with so much tenderness it took her breath away. “You look real,” she whispered, bringing up one hand to wipe away one latecomer of a tear. “You look real.” Up close as she was, she could see the imperfections in Helena’s skin that, usually, distance and make-up blurred into flawlessness. She smoothed her thumb across Helena’s cheek, and watched another tear fall, then wiped that away, too. 

“When I first met you,” Myka said, still in a low, quiet voice, “it took me days to process… well, to process _you_ , in so many words.” She gave a small smile. “My favorite author wasn’t just this awesome, eloquent person who’d written books so much ahead of their time, no. My favorite author was very much alive, _and_ a kickass, smart, beautiful woman – maybe not quite on the same page of the moral spectrum as I was, okay, but-” Myka shrugged. “I learned better, later. But then, back then in London, you outsmarted me. And I really have a pretty high opinion of my skills, you know. And you just yanked me to the ceiling, got out of my cuffs and waltzed out of there.” Helena opened her mouth as if to say something, but Myka shook her head, and she subsided. “You were… Part of me was just… just _star-struck_ ,” Myka went on. “You know? With you. Like, I couldn’t believe anyone like you even existed,” she said with a small, incredulous laugh. “Much less waltz back into my life again the way you did,” she added fondly. “ _Much_ less become friends with me. There were moments when I felt like pinching myself, when it all seemed just too fantastic to be real. Even in the context of endless wonder.” 

She sighed and turned serious. “When… when you were in the bookstore. A hologram. When I touched you, tried to, and you weren’t there, I… Helena, I almost _vomited_. Part of that gut punch was that it felt like my fear of ‘this is all too good to be true’ had gotten real, that you had somehow turned out not to be real after all. You know? And another part of that whole mess was that I was questioning how much of what I thought I knew about you was actually, truly real, and how much was just me being star-struck, projecting, assuming something when it wasn’t there at all. 

“So right now? This? Us spending so much time together? Sitting on the couch, or being in the kitchen tightening screws on the new countertop, or just, I don’t know, being around you twenty-four-seven, with all that entails?” She shrugged – she didn’t mind hearing the bathroom door swing shut at certain times and knowing that H.G. had gone to relieve themselves. Helena seemed to think along those lines too, because she looked mortified, and Myka went on quickly, “No, don’t be embarrassed, okay? All of that just… just helps me know, helped me learn and accept, that you’re a real person. That _you are real_. Not perfect, not flawless, not just the ‘favorite author who’s also kickass and smart and beautiful’, but a real human being. Someone who messes up just like the rest of us, who does their best with a hand that’s, y’know, stacked against you pretty fucking high – not perfect, but perfectly real. And, H.G., I _needed_ to learn that. I am happy that I learned that. Because I don’t want to-” she stopped herself and shook her head – she’d almost slipped up again. “I don’t want to be friends,” she said instead, “with someone on a pedestal. I don’t want to be star-struck, or hero-worship someone I don’t actually know. Real is better. You know?”

Helena’s eyes were full again, and her nostrils wide and lips pinched with the effort not to let the tears fall. Yet when she nodded, it dislodged two more tears to run down her cheeks, and Myka caught them both. “Your,” Helena began, and had to clear her throat and begin again, “your words do not exactly help my problem of finding myself undeserving of your friendship, you know.” She took a shaky breath and smiled a shaky smile. She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but then closed her mouth, shook her head, and looked at her hands. She sniffed. Cat fur was clinging to them. “I did pet the cat, did I not?” she sighed. 

“You did,” Myka chuckled. “I couldn’t believe it either.”

“I better go and… and clean up.” Myka obligingly opened her arms, and Helena got up. At the foot of the sofa, Helena turned around and said, “Thank you, Myka. I… don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough.”

Myka smiled at her and shook her head. “No need,” she said. “That’s what friends are for, right?” She made a shooing motion. “Go wash. Don’t worry about it. We’re all good.” 

-_-_-

H.G. never talked about leaving again, but Myka knew that that didn’t mean they didn’t think about it. 

It hadn’t even been all that long that they’d been at the cabin together – nine days, all told. To think that H.G. had never spent nine consecutive days in any one place! Not even the Bed and Breakfast – thinking back on it now, Myka knew that to be the truth. After H.G.’s reinstatement they’d had retrievals aplenty, to the point where even Myka, who never complained about what work asked of her, felt like finding a manager to complain to. 

To Myka, the B&B had become a second home, but H.G. never had had the time for that. Did H.G. feel at home in the cabin? They knew it by now; knew where the spice cabinet was and where the screwdrivers, knew which window you had to wiggle to get it open and how to wiggle it, knew to turn on the water first and step into the shower five seconds later, when the water was warm. 

But did that make a home? 

They felt comfortable enough around Myka to wear sweatpants – when it happened the first time, Myka had purposely _not_ commented on it; she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Comfortable enough to leave the bathroom door unlocked as well as their bedroom door, something that hadn’t been the case at the B&B. 

Myka _knew_ how much H.G. trusted her. 

But did that make a home?

And was it a good idea to offer up the cabin as a home when, at some point, they’d both have to leave again, to resume their jobs as agents?

Mrs. Frederic had reassured Myka to take all the time she needed, and had specifically told her that that extended to H.G. too; and Myka had taken care to inform H.G. of that. So it wasn’t as if there was a deadline to this, a fixed end to their stay at the cabin, but even a non-fixed end was an end, and in some ways even more difficult to grasp precisely for its imprecision.

Maybe it just took time, Myka thought to herself. And she remembered a book she had read as a teenager; translated from French at first, and later, when she’d grown more proficient in the language, in the original as well. 

The Little Prince had tamed the Fox, and made him his friend. With patience, with returning every day to sit a little closer, until one day he’d be allowed to touch the Fox and call him friend.

Myka didn’t need to tame H.G. – not at all. But H.G. needed to tame her fear, and maybe that needed just as much patience as taming a fox did. A little closer every day, and one day, the fox would no longer be a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes, and the cabin no longer a cabin like a hundred thousand other cabins. They would mean something – the Fox, a friend; the cabin, home.

 _If_ H.G. wanted to – but it seemed they did. And they knew they were allowed, as it were. Right? Myka had told them. 

Then again, in a matter as weighty as this, maybe a reminder was helpful. 

And then a realization struck Myka, and she took her phone outside to where she couldn’t be overheard, when H.G. was taking a shower, and called Darla, who two days later dropped a little parcel in Myka’s mailbox, and a paper bag with card stock and envelopes.

Perfect.

“What is this?” George asked the next morning at breakfast, looking at the sealed envelope on his plate. 

“It bears your name,” Myka said lightly, “you probably should open it.”

There was no need for subterfuge; they knew each other’s handwriting. Myka knew that George knew full well who had addressed this envelope. George tilted his head in silent surprise when he picked the envelope up and noticed the heft of it. Eyebrows high on his forehead, he proceeded to open it. 

Out slid a key, and a card with several lines of poetry.

“I read within a poet’s book,” George read aloud, “a word that starred the page: ‘Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage!’” He raised his eyebrows even further and looked up at Myka. “Ominous beginning,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, but Myka could see the wild-deer look in his eyes. 

“Go on,” she urged him, nodding her chin towards the card.

“Yes, that is true,” George went on reading, “and something more – you’ll find, where’er you roam, that marble floors and gilded walls can never make a home.” He let the card sink for a moment, bit his lips together, shot Myka a fleeting glance, and continued, voice thickening as he spoke, “But every house where Love abides, and Friendship is a guest, is surely home, and home-sweet-home: for there the heart can rest.” His fingers trembled as he put down the card and picked up the key.

“For the door,” Myka said. “For you. And-” she reached to the empty chair beside her and took up the twig that she’d put there. Bare and barren, she’d picked it from the ground yesterday, out in the trees behind the cabin. “A start.” She held it out to George.

“A start?” He looked at it in confusion.

“There are twelve more of these hidden around here,” she said, gesturing around the cabin. “One for each day that you’ve been here. Not enough to build a nest yet, my raven friend, but you know how they pile up.” She grinned at him, then became serious again. “This is your home if you want it to be,” she said. “And I know me just saying that doesn’t make it a home, but-” the rest of her words got buried in George’s arms. “Alright, alright,” she laughed, hugging him back. “Go find the rest of your twigs, Hugin.”

Breakfast was eaten much later that day, and George’s eyes were brimming more often than not. He kept the twigs on the desk in his bedroom – the one place Dickens wasn’t allowed in – and, in the afternoon, showed Myka the beginnings of a weave he had created from them. “It shall be a wondrous construction,” he said ponderously, and then laughed as it fell apart. “This has been happening all afternoon. Back to the drawing table, I fear. If ravens can do it, it cannot be beyond me.” Then he looked at Myka with eyes alight with happiness. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For this,” he pointed at the twigs, “for the key, but much more so for the thought you put into all of it, and for the intent behind it.”

Myka nodded. “I needed you to know,” she said. 

“I know,” he replied. “And I needed the reminder.” He looked down at the little loose bundle on his desk. “I shall never forget again.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey lovebirds, I hope you have booze in the house,” Claudia hollered as she got out of her car.

“What, d’you mean you didn’t bring any? Shit,” Myka hollered back through the open window. She bit back a laugh as she saw Claudia’s face congeal. 

“Frakk, are you for real? You don’t have any-”

“Children,” George chided mildly from the deck, “relax. Claudia, she’s only teasing.” He rose to meet Claudia’s hug. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Claudia groaned theatrically as she hugged him around the middle. “Ugh, don’t call me darling, you hunk, I might lose all inhibition before I’ve had a single sip of alcohol.”

By then, Myka had come out onto the deck too, and came over to hug the birthday girl. “Happy birthday, Claud.”

“Are you really sure it’s okay that I’m here?” Claudia asked.

Myka put her fingers on her chin musingly. “Well… now that you mention it, really… no, I think we’re better off if you drive the five hours back, you know.”

“Dork,” Claudia scoffed at her, then turned to George and repeated, “She’s a giant dork, and I love her.”

George nodded. “She can take one like that, can she not?” He took Claudia’s overnight bag and nodded towards the door. “Come on inside; I am sure Dickens is _desperate_ to catch up with you.”

Claudia ducked her head, but grinned and followed. “Hey, you know what?” 

“Hm?” George replied over his shoulder. 

“I brought my camera,” Claudia beamed. “Fashion photoshoot, baby! Can’t have a man be without pictures of himself looking dashing, now can we.”

George stopped and turned, his face slack with surprise. “Oh,” he said belatedly. 

Claudia nodded and grinned. “A little bird told me that you had a lot of new outfits to show off.”

George chuckled and said, “Claudia, that was myself.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Myka, do you have anything to eat? I didn’t stop for food, so I haven’t had anything since breakfast, and I’m starving.”

A few minutes later, lunch was served picnic style on the deck – it was a beautiful summer day, so much so that Myka put the sunshade up so they wouldn’t get burned. A nice breeze from the mountains brought a little bit of coolness and swept away the bugs. Claudia kept taking pictures of the house and the picnic, with little gasps of glee and hands clasped in delight. 

Afterwards, Claudia insisted on the photoshoot she had announced earlier. It didn’t take long to convince George to parade out the clothes that he’d bought, and since lunch had involved a bottle of champagne and the photoshoot involved the better part of a second one, the mood of the afternoon was one of fond and happy silliness. 

Then, after they’d exhausted all possible outfits and poses, Claudia announced that it was “selfie time!!!” and proceeded to take a half dozen pictures of the three of them together. Then she tried to persuade Myka to pose with George, which Myka adamantly denied – she had nowhere near the wardrobe to hold her own in a photo shoot like that, she insisted, despite all kinds of protestations from the other two. 

As the afternoon turned into evening and the third bottle was opened, Claudia brought out the boom box and decided it was time to dance. She groaned at Myka’s meager collection of CDs, then slapped her head and raced to her car, returning triumphant with a stack of CDs she’d brought. They danced the daylight away, and then Myka turned on the fairy lights she and H.G. had strung along the deck’s railing a few days prior, and they danced some more. 

“You got moves, G.,” Claudia exclaimed happily. “Man, best birthday ever, with my two favoritest people ever. Am I lucky or what!” She bounded over to Myka and pulled her towards George, then slung an arm around both their shoulders to kiss both their cheeks in turn. “Time for another selfie!” She pulled out her camera and held it up above them. “Okay, what I want you to do, right, is you each kiss my cheek, right? Okay? C’mon, you guys, just for a fun besties selfie. Alright? Alright! On three – one, two, three!” 

And she dove to the floor.

Myka and George, both bereft of their target, stumbled towards each other. It wasn’t a full kiss – Myka barely felt George’s lips graze hers before they both caught themselves, but the shutter clicked and Claudia cackled gleefully. 

“Oldest trick in the book, you guys! Like, seriously? You fell for that?” Then her face fell as she saw the looks of mortification on the other two faces. “Frakk, you guys. Shit, oh man, I thought-” she bit her lip and squirmed. “I thought you guys were… you know,” she muttered. “You… um, aren’t, I guess?”

Myka sighed. “Claud…”

“I’m sorry!” Claudia sounded upset and embarrassed. “Frakk, man, I’m sorry. I’ll delete the picture, okay?”

“Claudia, that’s not the point,” Myka told her. George, she noticed, seemed still too shocked to say anything. 

“I know! I know! Shit. Shit!” Claudia ran her hand through her hair and turned aside. “Man, this is the second time I come here, and the second time I seriously fuck up.”

Myka could see that Claudia’s eyes were brimming. She relented. “Hey, c’mon,” she said quietly, nudging the young woman’s shoulder. “From where I stand, ‘seriously fuck up’ is way too harsh, okay?”

“I second that, darling,” George spoke up. He, too, looked a little worried for Claudia’s state. 

“I just-” Claudia warbled, then bit the back of her hand. She shook her head wordlessly, pinching her eyes closed. “First I messed up with Steve, and now with you guys _again_ , and I…”

“Hey,” Myka said soothingly, putting her arm around Claudia’s shoulder. “Hey, Claud, c’mon. Slow breaths, okay? Let’s go get you some water.” She glanced at George, who nodded and backed off towards the kitchen. Myka led Claudia inside and to the couch, talking softly to her all the while. In bits and pieces, she learned that, out on a retrieval, Claudia had tried to bond with Steve, the new agent, and that it had backfired over something Claudia had had no chance of knowing. By the time the story was out, George was there too, pressing a glass of water into Claudia’s hands. And by the time that glass of water was gone, Claudia was nodding off.

“I’ll get her comfortable,” Myka volunteered. “Can you get me a washcloth?”

George nodded and left. 

Myka gently urged Claudia to lie down – by now it was pretty clear to her that the champagne had gone to Claudia’s head – and took her shoes off. When George returned with the washcloth, she carefully cleaned Claudia’s face; Claudia was already deeply enough under to barely notice. George held up a blanket questioningly, and, when Myka nodded, covered the young woman with it. 

They both looked at their sleeping charge for a moment, then George touched Myka’s elbow and tilted his head towards the deck, where the fairy lights still gleamed and the music still played.

Thinking he meant to tidy up, Myka followed him, but George simply turned the music down and looked at Myka. “I am sorry,” he said. 

Myka blinked. “For what?”

“For kissing you, of course,” he returned, as if that should have been obvious.

Myka ran a hand across her forehead and sighed. “No, George, please, just… just forget about it, okay? It wasn’t even a kiss, really; it was just a prank, silly, no harm done.” And she really, really didn’t want to think about it, because then she would also think about how she really, really wanted to kiss George _right_.

“Wh-” George began, then broke off and sighed deeply. He looked aside for a moment, then set his jaw and met Myka’s eyes again. “What if I wished it hadn’t been?” His voice was barely audible over the music.

Myka opened her mouth, but couldn’t find any words to say. What did he mean? Did-

“Oh my-” George exclaimed softly, stepping back, “Myka, I… I am so dreadfully sorry, please, I did not mean-” he swallowed harshly. “I should not have said that. I… should not… feel this way. You have been nothing but the best of friends, and you _specifically said_ -” he swallowed again and finished, “no emotional attachment.”

Myka stared at him. “Are you… are you saying you… caught feelings?”

George closed his eyes. His mouth worked for a moment, then he nodded. “Yes.” 

Myka looked at him as he stood in the soft glow of the fairy lights, in the quiet chirruping of the cicadas, on this warm August evening. He was worrying his hands – he did that; she’d seen it before. Helena played with her ring; he didn’t wear one, but worried the knuckle of his ring finger instead. His breath was coming in short, shallow bursts through half-open lips. 

He loved her. 

Emotion rose in Myka like an all-encompassing wave. 

H.G. Wells loved her. 

“Silly Hugin,” she said softly, stepping closer and catching his face in her hands. “I love you too.” And she kissed him.


	7. Chapter 7

“You said we’d talk when Claudia had left,” Helena said the next morning as they watched the young woman – hungover, but patched up – leave.

Myka chuckled. “Impatient, are we?”

“Well, excuse me,” Helena replied with a tongue-in-cheek twinkle in her eye, “but I do think we wasted enough time _pining_ after one another when we could have… explored this.”

Regardless of that twinkle, Myka pondered this. “Y’know,” she said slowly, “I’m not sure. C’mon, let’s go sit down for this.” As beautiful as the weather had been yesterday, today was blustery, a reminder that fall wasn’t far away, and they were both out in only t-shirts.

When, once through the door, she couldn’t feel Helena follow her, she turned around and saw the other woman detour to the patch of trees north of the cabin to pick up a twig from the ground. Myka’s heart went wide.

She sank down cross-legged on the smaller couch, and watched Helena sit down at its other end. Whether it was the better position for watching something on the TV or the fact that they sought each other’s nearness, they both found themselves on this couch much more often than on the larger one. Myka smiled at the thought. _Ours_ , she thought. _This is our couch._ And then Dickens hopped up and settled between them, and her smile grew. _I guess he’s ours now too._ While Dickens seemed drawn most to George, H.G. was tolerant of him at best, and so the cat contented himself – or Myka liked to think so, anyway – with getting petted where he could. Today, he nudged Myka’s knee until she started rubbing his head.

Helena watched them with a small smile. Then she asked, “What makes you not sure?” 

“Remember what I said about learning that you’re real?” Myka asked back, and, when Helena nodded, went on, “That’s what I meant. I had to learn that you’re _there_ , that you’re not going away – not in order to allow myself to love you or anything; that just happened.” She rolled her eyes at herself with a wry grin. “But in order to even contemplate, I don’t know, indulging that feeling. You know? Trusting that it was okay to feel that way, platonic or otherwise.”

Helena slowly nodded. “I know what you mean, and now that you put it that way, I will agree.” She smiled at Myka and twirled the little stick she still held. Dickens’ head came round, and she quickly put the twig on the coffee table, out of the cat’s reach. “Building trust, like building a home.”

“Exactly. Can’t be a rush job.”

“Especially not after what I put you through,” Helena added. When Myka started to protest, she held up a hand. “I did,” she insisted. “I abused your trust. There is no denying that, Myka, and I’d ask you not to try. I have been atoning for it, and working to rebuild it, I do acknowledge that too, never fear.” She gave Myka a shy smile. 

Placated, Myka nodded and smiled back. “And I think you needed that time too,” she said. “What with not believing you deserve me, that kinda thing. Because hey, I don’t want to be on a pedestal either, you know?”

Helena delicately raised her eyebrows, then cleared her throat. “I… see what you mean,” she said carefully. 

Myka laughed. “That’s a diplomatic way to say ‘I disagree’,” she said. “Or have you come to believe in this yet? In us? In the fact that I’m not going anywhere?”

Helena opened her mouth as if to answer, but couldn’t seem to find the words to say anything. 

Myka laughed again and leaned forwards to take her hand. “Do we need to have an argument and then make up so you can experience that not even a fight would put us in any danger?”

At that, Helena laughed as well, but there was a hint of tension in her grip of Myka’s hand that told Myka she’d hit if not on target, then close enough. 

“Hey,” Myka said quietly, squeezing Helena’s hand gently. “Hey, seriously, don’t worry about it. We have all the time in the world.”

“Do we?” Helena asked. She pulled her hand out of Myka’s grasp and looked aside. “Do we really?” She gestured around the cabin. “We might feel like that, here, but we are cocooned here, sheltered. At some point we’re going to have to return to our jobs, and they are anything but safe. Myka, I am not concerned about an argument coming between us; I am far, far more worried about the perils of an agent’s life doing that.” She bit her lip and dropped her gaze. “I could not _bear_ -” She bit off the rest of the sentence.

“Hey,” Myka said again. She scooted closer – Dickens harrumphed at her and jumped down, stalking to his pile of cat toys reproachfully – and reached for both of Helena’s hands. “Hey, Hugin, raven of the thinky thoughts,” she said softly. “I know – I _know_ – how dangerous that life is. I know. But I also know how much of an incentive I have to come home safe from each and every retrieval. And I know you know that too.” 

“And I know that there were some risks I did not take after Christina was born,” Helena replied forcefully. “At least three artifacts slipped through my grasp because of it.”

“And that is normal, Helena,” Myka replied with equal emphasis. “That is human. Every time we go out, we make our calls. Dozens of them, every time. Do I run around that corner, or do I drop and go slow? Do I wait for backup and risk the person getting away? Do I take the shot? Every time. And a thousand things influence every call, every time. Am I at peak physical capacity for a sprint? Did I have a bad result at the shooting range last evening? And, yes, ‘is someone waiting for me to come home from this’ factors in, too.” She smiled at Helena. “We went over that in training, you know? Pete and I. Every Secret Service agent does. To help us navigate that. I don’t know if you did – if not, absolutely a good idea to reflect on that now. We aren’t robots; we do need to be aware of these factors that influence us. Only if we are can we make better, more informed decisions – both the deliberate ones and the ones from the gut. We even role-played, during training; pretty effective.”

“I hardly have the opportunity to go through that training, do I.” Helena’s voice was acerbic.

“No,” Myka said calmly, “but we _can_ ask to take things slow when we return. A, not go on retrievals together, B, not go on high-stakes retrievals, if possible, in the beginning – there is _always_ inventory, there _is_ a new guy, and there was a pretty long time when it was just Artie and the world didn’t crash and burn either. I’m one hundred percent sure we can find a good middle ground with all of that.” She let go of one of Helena’s hand to run her fingers down Helena’s cheek. “There’s also debriefing, especially if it was a tense retrieval. Helps a lot – just hear it all out, go through it with your significant other, get their reasoning for why they made the calls they made, learn to trust that they’re doing their best to come back to you. And yes, that takes time too, but again, we do have that. Okay?”

She could feel Helena’s jaw work under her fingers. “Is this… you speaking from experience?” Helena asked.

“With Sam?” Helena nodded, and so did Myka. “Yep. He’d learned that in marriage counseling, back when he and Annika were still working on trying to save their marriage. Made sense with a civilian partner, made double sense with a partner who was also in the Service. Makes sense for us now too.”

“Did their…” Helena broke off and cleared her throat, “Did their marriage fail because of his being an agent?”

Myka took a deep breath. “In a way, yes, _but_ -” she raised both a finger and her eyebrows, “that was not because he was an agent, but because he had a hard time admitting when he made mistakes, and a hard time making compromises. He was too used to getting his own way, and not used at all on being called out. He got better about it through counseling, but it wasn’t enough for Annika in the end. I understood him a little better, as someone in the same line of work, but we ran into some of the same problems, too.”

“ _I_ … have difficulties admitting to mistakes,” Helena said stiffly.

“Nuh-uh,” Myka laughed, shaking her head. “Nowhere _near_ as much as Sam did, babe, really don’t worry about that.”

Helena gave her a tentative smile in return. “I like that, you know. You calling me ‘babe’, or ‘baby’ the other day. I would never have thought so – had anyone ever suggested it to me, I would have balked at the highest degree – and yet here I am, finding my heart growing strangely soft when you do.”

Myka smiled and released Helena’s cheek to sit back – she’d allow the change of topic; Helena would think about the matter on her own, she was sure. They didn’t need to talk it out now – that, too, had time. “I’ll go on doing so, then,” she went along with the deviation.

“Hugin, too,” Helena said with a blush. “It feels incredibly… intimate. Only you know about the raven. It is… in a very peculiar way, it is… exhilarating, to know that you know. I know I can trust you – I _do_ trust you, Myka, implicitly – and yet there is still a measure of white-knuckled trepidation in the matter. And it does raise its head whenever you bring it up, be it through a name you call me, or by getting me started on building a nest.” She inclined her head towards the twig on the coffee table. 

Myka bit her lip. White-knuckled trepidation didn’t sound good. “Should I… do it less? Stop doing it?”

“No,” Helena said quickly. “No, not at all. You see, when you do, yes, I feel that thrill of apprehension – but I can tell it to go to rest, that’s the beauty of it. And _that_ is the most wondrous experience that has come out of all of this.”

“Trusting that it’s okay to feel this way. To trust me,” Myka nodded, calling back with a smile to what she’d said earlier.

“Precisely,” Helena replied with a brilliant smile of her own. Then it faded a little, and she added, “Now I simply need to adapt that to the fear of losing you, it seems.”

“Inasmuch as that is ever simple,” Myka sighed, but her smile remained in place too. “Give it time, okay? I mean we’re both not the most patient of people, I know that, but we’ve made a start already, haven’t we?” She looked around the cabin, ignoring Dickens who was studiously trying to disembowel a catnip mouse, and tapped her fingers on the worn upholstery she was sitting on. “I just thought how I’ve come to think of this as our couch. Not because I set out, two weeks ago, wanting to change how I see this piece of furniture, but because it just happened. The rest will come, too.”

Helena’s smile deepened. “Here you go, five times my junior, advising me on patience.”

Myka shrugged with a grin. “Seemed you needed it.”

“If I’m Hugin, then, are you Munin, raven of wisdom?”

That made Myka laugh out loud. “Please, no,” she said. “A Moomin, maybe, but I’m really not all that wise.”

“Moomin?”

Myka shook her head, still chuckling. “Children’s books characters,” she said, gesturing vaguely, “look them up sometime.”

“Alright.” Helena leaned forwards. “Do I have to be patient for another kiss, too, or can we-” 

“Oh, we can,” Myka breathed. “Absolutely.” She brought her fingers to Helena’s jaw and her lips to Helena’s mouth.

This kiss was different than their kiss in the hotel oh so many weeks ago. At least that was how it felt to Myka – this time, the scope wasn’t ‘friends with benefits’, if, in truth, it had ever been. This time, she was all in, hook line and sinker, kissing Helena in full realization and acknowledgement of how much she loved her – and god, did she love her. 

Again, though, Helena pulled back when Myka reached out to deepen the kiss. They were both breathing hard; Helena’s pupils were wide and her mouth open and flushed, and yet she’d pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Myka asked.

Helena snapped her mouth shut. She looked anguished for a moment, then dropped her gaze. Her jaw jutted out in sudden anger. “Stupid,” she hissed. 

Myka felt confused. “Helena, what is it? Are you okay? Is this – should I give you some space?” She began to sit up, but Helena wrapped both her hands around Myka’s cheeks and pulled her close enough to lean forehead against forehead. Myka could feel her trembling. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I… I want to, but I can’t,” Helena brought out. It sounded choked, stifled, and angry. 

“Can’t wh- oh.” And suddenly, Helena’s insisting on being the one to give and Myka the one to receive, back in the hotel, stood in a different light. “Can’t let yourself be kissed?” 

“No! I mean yes! I…” Helena huffed out an annoyed breath. 

“But that’s not that big of a deal,” Myka said. She’d come across people who only wanted to top, and while she herself didn’t feel that way, it hadn’t mattered much for her. “If you want to only-” 

“But that is it, Myka,” Helena exclaimed. “It’s not that I _want_ to. You see? It’s… I…” She pulled back, and Myka opened her eyes and saw the distress in Helena’s expression. “I do want to,” Helena whispered. “Good lord, do I want to, but-” she shook her head and closed her eyes. “But then I panic, and if I’ve spoken to you about feeling like running before, that was _nothing_ to how I feel at the thought of being… made love to.”

“Okay,” Myka said slowly, digesting this. “Okay, I… I think I understand. Again, though, there really is no hurry, right? There’s no… schedule we need to follow, or goal to reach before a deadline.”

“But I want to… I want to give you this,” Helena said. “I want to prove my love to you that way, and I… I do want to… orgasm.” The last word was spoken almost apologetically. 

“Hey,” Myka said, gently nudging Helena’s cheek with her knuckles. “Hey, baby, look at me, okay – you do not need to prove your love to me.” When Helena’s eyes came up, Myka let her guards drop completely, and deliberately brought her thoughts to the sheer enormity of the idea that not only did she love H.G., but that H.G. loved her back. 

It had been incredible when she’d first realized it, and even now it made her giddy – and Myka put all of that in her eyes. “I know you love me,” she said, and felt like laughing and shouting at the thought. “I know you do. And believe me, it is the most fantastical and unbelievable and amazing thing to know, but I know it, in my bones, okay? There is no need, zero point zero, to prove that to me. And I know you trust me; you don’t have to prove that either, okay? I mean I get why you say that, I get the intention, and we will find a way, but not because I need you to prove anything to me. I know. I need no proof; I know.”

A tear was rolling down Helena’s cheek. Myka wiped it away and went on, “As for wanting to orgasm, babe, I totally get that too, and we’ll find a way for that as well, okay? Look, we don’t need to have all the solutions right from the start. I mean, take our first time – you kinda cheated on that one, you know. You had _all_ the solutions; you knew everything I wanted. But there’s a lot of charm in figuring it out together too, you know? In seeing what works and where we end up.”

“I… remember as much,” Helena said, “from when I was Emmet.”

Myka slowly nodded. “I’d been wondering,” she said. “If you remembered that at all. Any of it.”

“I do.” Helena pursed her lips, but it looked more pensive than angry. Then she laughed at herself. “When I told you that I was fine with you sleeping with him – it turned out that I wasn’t,” she said quietly, not meeting Myka’s eyes. “I wanted to be, but I wasn’t; I was jealous, _ragingly_ _jealous_ that he so easily managed what evaded me so stubbornly: to surrender to you, to allow-” she didn’t finish the sentence, but simply gestured. 

Myka nodded. Emmet hadn’t had any hang-ups, any inhibitions. Hard to imagine how he could have had. “I know what you mean,” she said, “go on.”

“I had, when I encouraged you to agree to his request, hoped that it would come to pass for him,” Helena continued, still looking away. “I wished it for him, but afterwards, having the memory of it in my head, I…” she shook her head. “I could not deal with it.”

“That was why you left that morning?”

“Partly.” Helena sighed. “There were a lot of reasons, but, yes, that was one of them. And I’m sorry.”

Myka shook her head. “No need to be,” she said. “We all deal with our stuff the way we can, and that morning was a fuck-ton to deal with.”

Helena’s eyes flew up at the expletive, and she gave a surprised little laugh. “I suppose,” she said. “And I shall forever be grateful to you for allowing me to deal with it at my own pace. You were so incredibly patient, and that was invaluable.”

“I thought it might be,” Myka nodded. “Like in that aria from Carmen. You think you can grasp love and it evades you, but if you wait for it, there it is.” She pulled a face. “Not the absolutely correct order of the lyrics, but that’s the sense I’ve always gotten. It’s like a bird; you close your hand too fast or too much and you crush it or it flies away, but if you leave your hand there, just there, open and waiting, maybe the bird comes and settles.” She held her hand palm up to demonstrate.

Helena’s surprise had grown into another laugh as Myka spoke. “Carmen!” she exclaimed at the end of it. “I love that opera. Always have, ever since I heard it as a child, despite the protestations of my oh-so-scandalized mother.” Her expression softened into a smile. “You’re quite right,” she said, “it _was_ the right approach. I needed to know that your hand was there, as it were, and find my own way back to it.” She rested her own hand, palm down, on Myka’s, gently but without hesitation. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Myka said. She didn’t grasp Helena’s hand, as Helena hadn’t grasped hers either; the two hands simply rested atop each other, palm to palm, warm and solid. “Just trust in us, H.G.,” she said quietly. “We can make this work.”

Helena nodded. And then, in swirls and flurries like ink in water, her feathers appeared on her naked forearm, calm and composed; a bird at rest. 

“I was wondering,” Myka said, “seeing that, if they only appear when you’re female or if… you know.”

Helena blushed. “To be frank,” she said, “I haven’t the faintest; I haven’t tried.”

“Oh!” Myka couldn’t keep in her surprise. 

Helena sighed and pulled back her hand. “It seems that subconsciously, I was already following your advice about going slow with processing all of it – or maybe I was falling back into old habits; the same that drove me to not attempt to change into my male body after being unbronzed.”

“Could be a bit of both,” Myka nodded. “Schrödinger’s cat, in a way – as long as you don’t know if it’s yes or no, you don’t have to deal with either possibility as your new reality. And sometimes you just don’t have the capacity for yet another thing to deal with.”

Helena blinked. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said.

Myka sketched a little seated bow. “You’re welcome.”

Helena laughed. “Munin,” she said softly, then, giving Myka a smile of pure love. “I really should have started talking to you about these things months ago,” she said, then immediately grew somber. “I am sorry, so sorry that I didn’t, and where it led me.”

Myka sighed. “I appreciate your apology,” she said. “Really, I appreciate that you acknowledge that it was wrong. But, and I really don’t want to have to say this too often: it was in the past, you righted it before it became too wrong, and you have grown so far away from it, at least from where I stand, that I do not hold you, as you are today, responsible for that any longer.”

“You… you don’t?”

Myka shook her head. “You weren’t in a good place. You were hurting. And you _had_ just spent over a century locked inside your own mind. And you said it yourself; you hadn’t been in your right mind going into the bronze – how on Earth would a hundred years of stewing in that make you come out bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? Helena,” she reached for the other woman’s hand, and smiled when Helena gave it immediately, “the important thing is that you turned it around, okay? You didn’t go through with it, and you made amends. And nobody was hurt – except you yourself. The shit Kosan pulled? Even for what you’d planned, that was too harsh, too cruel. Nobody should have to go through that, and especially not you, after all you’ve been through before. And most certainly not for only a plan that you didn’t follow through on.”

Helena was biting her lip. “I… appreciate you saying this.”

Myka laughed. “And here we have another very polite way of saying ‘I don’t see it like that’,” she said. “Hey, we can disagree on that – as long as,” and she cast Helena a very serious look, “you do not insist on further penance. From where I stand, you have a clean sheet. Tabula rasa. Anything you mess up from here on out, I’ll call you out on, but do not punish yourself or think I should punish you for what’s in the past. Okay?”

Helena pondered this for a long moment, then nodded. “I will try.” She held up a hand and shook her head when Myka protested, “That is what I can promise. Myka, please. I cannot promise that I will think that way, but I _can_ promise to try. And not half-heartedly; I promise I will do my utmost.”

“Okay,” Myka said as she understood that, “okay.”

“Acceptable?”

“Yes.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Okay, I have an idea,” Myka said, pulling away from George a little. It was the next day, and they were on the larger couch – very definitely not watching a movie, but making out like the horniest of teenagers. 

“Oh?” George nipped her ear – of course he remembered that Myka’s ear was an erogenous zone for her. 

“M-hm,” Myka nodded. She twisted her head a little to make him look at her. “If you think it won’t work, totally say so, but considering how much you do trust me, I think it’s worth giving it a shot.”

“Well, what is it?” He straightened a little – he was lying on top of her, crotch pressed against hers delightfully; part of Myka found it difficult to stop, but the idea she just had… might just work.

She took a deep breath. “Okay, just… first, think back to that morning at the hotel. Remember how you realized that all I wanted to do was help you, make it easier for you.”

George nodded. “I will never forget that.”

“Perfect,” Myka replied and smiled up at him. “Fix that in your mind, okay? That’s going to be, like, the base line for the rest. Just… whenever you need to, remember – I want to do this for you. I’m not gonna hurt you; nothing bad is gonna happen to you. Got that?”

“Alright,” he said slowly.

“I mean it,” Myka insisted. “Remember how you felt back then, when you realized that I was there for you. Can you call that up again?”

He nodded, and his face relaxed a little. 

She exhaled softly. “Keep that in mind, okay?” When he nodded again, she went on, “Now, remember that juice factory in Tamalpais? When that guy asked you who you were and I said-”

“‘Agent Wells’,” George replied immediately. “Yes?”

“‘An agent under me’,” Myka supplied, and then dropped her voice a register and added, “‘does whatever I say’.” She could feel George’s cock twitch against her thigh and grinned. 

George exhaled slowly. “I… Could you elaborate a bit further?”

Myka raised her eyebrows. Was George already easing into it, or did he truly need more persuading? _Either way, I suppose_ , she told herself. “How about,” she said, very deliberately, very slowly, enunciating every word carefully for maximum impact, “I strip you naked, take you to bed, and forbid you to do anything, anything at all, while I do whatever I please?”

George’s eyes went wide, and his jaw slack. 

“How about,” Myka went on in the same tones, “I don’t even do anything with you? How about I put you in that chair at the foot of the bed, and tell you not to move, and then go and have a little fun all by myself on the bed? I do have a nice selection of toys in my bedside table.” She could feel his cock twitch at her hip again, and hear him inhale sharply. “How about I then come over to where you’re sitting, and I sit down in your lap, and have another go, and you still aren’t allowed to touch me – or yourself?”

George was trembling now. “Submission,” he croaked, and cleared his throat. “Yes, that… that might… oh my- oh!” In his trembling, his hips had slipped fully between Myka’s thighs, and if they had both not been fully clothed still, it would have been missionary right there and then, but, alas. “I am so sorry.”

Myka gave up on her role for a moment and laughed. “Shut up,” she said fondly, “this is the goal, after all.” She gave him a quick peck and asked, “Are you familiar with submission and dominance play?”

Still not meeting her eyes, he nodded. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, “I am.”

“Hey, George. Look at me, okay? Look at me.” When he did, Myka went on, “Are you comfortable with it? Would you like to try?” She could see him deliberate, and appreciated it. She’d rather he think about it than say something spur-of-the-moment he later might regret.

Then he nodded. “Yes, and yes.”

Myka gave him a smile. Then she took a breath and slipped back into her role. “Get up,” she said. 

He blinked, searching her face with an expression of confusion that lasted half a second. Then his nostrils flared and he scrambled off her. 

“Bedroom,” Myka said – not unkindly, but very, very firmly. “Yours. Strip, and wait for me.”

She couldn’t leave him too long, she knew; if he lost his nerve, this could backfire spectacularly. So after he’d left, she quickly went through what she wanted her persona to be – impossible to not obey, that was the uppermost priority. Caring, though; he needed to feel safe. She needed to keep him – or them, if H.G. needed to change at any point during this – on the thin line where they _wanted_ to obey her, to trust her, more than they felt pushed to run away from this.

So, a moment later, she strode into H.G.’s bedroom – George did indeed wait for her, standing at the foot of the bed, naked and hands clasped in front of his erection. His breath was coming fast and shallow, his eyes were shifting quickly from here to there. 

“Good,” Myka nodded. “Here are the rules. Are you aware of safe words? Answer either yes or no.”

“Yes,” George said.

“Excellent. Your safe word is Houston, or, if you can’t speak, a set of three taps or knocks or touches. Got that?”

George nodded. “Houston, or a signal of three.” His eyes looked a little less wild now.

“Correct. The traffic light system is also alright. Remember that? Green-yellow-red?” Myka checked the pulse she saw flutter on his neck. It, too, seemed to be slowing. 

George nodded again. “Yes.”

“Good. Next rule – you’re already following that one, and you’re doing fine; just keep doing that – apart from your safe word or traffic light signals, you will not speak unless I ask you a question, and then you will answer my question truly and as briefly as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He squirmed a bit, from one foot to the other, but did not say anything further, just as asked. 

“Good. Next rule – you will follow my every instruction.” This was it – this was the main item. “I call the shots here, and you will do as I say.” Myka paused to give him time to process that, then said, carefully enunciating every word, “Can you do that?”

When he inhaled, it was shaky, but his eyes were clear. “Yes,” he said, and a flood of warmth rushed through Myka. She made no effort to hide it from him – she wanted him to know that she appreciated his gift, for that was what it was.

“Very good,” she told him. “Lie down on the bed.”

He looked confused and opened his mouth, and she shot him a sharp look that dared him to disobey so soon. She’d chosen specifically not to go along with the fantasy she’d laid out to him earlier – she wanted to keep him from guessing or knowing what would happen next. This was about him giving himself over, including any expectations of how this would go.

He laid down on his back, hands still near his crotch, trying without being too obvious to protect his cock. 

“Hands up above your head,” she ordered. “Do not move them, except if you need to give the safe signal. You may grasp the bars if that will help you,” she added graciously.

He swallowed, but hesitated only for the briefest moment before complying. Yet, he did hesitate. Then again, as early in the game as this was, as unused as they both were to it, that was only natural.

Myka had done this only once before; she’d been submissive a few times, but domme only once. It was an interesting variation of having sex; not one she needed at all times, but definitely enjoyable – as long as all involved played safe and fair. Her first time as sub, her domme had gone to great lengths to explain the situation, to emphasize that it wasn’t about overpowering someone but about mutual respect acted out in different roles that, if played correctly, allowed all involved to explore fantasies of domination or submission without harm to themselves or others. Myka had had a hard time letting go that first time, but having had that long of an explanation had helped her to even contemplate letting go in the first place. Had George not said that he was knowledgeable about the practice, she’d have sat him down for an equally lengthy introduction – but he seemed at ease enough now, even with that little bit of hesitation. Myka resolved to keep an eye out for further delays, but not bother about it now.

“Close your eyes,” she said, “and keep them shut. Can you do that, or will you need a blindfold?”

“I can,” George said, without hesitation this time, and closed his eyes.

“Excellent.” 

Myka watched him for a moment longer, then turned on her heel and left. She knew he’d hear it; it would be a test of his commitment, much more to himself than to her – she had no way of telling if he’d let go or the headboard bars, or if he’d opened his eyes, but _he_ had the time now to figure out if he was comfortable in the situation.

Also, there were some items she needed to get from her own bedroom.

“Color?” she asked when she returned – not sharply, but in the you-better-not-lie-to-me voice she also used with suspects.

“Green,” George said. He seemed still a bit tense – again, not unexpected, but something to watch out for. 

Myka hummed her approval of his reply, and brushed the tip of a feather across his shin. He sucked in a breath, and she ran the handle of a stirring spoon over his pectoral. She’d picked these two items on purpose – the ostrich feather was the very definition of softness; the spoon handle hard wood but polished from use. She’d debated a bit on the feather, but it was, she hoped, different enough in texture from raven feathers that it wouldn’t bring up unwanted associations.

She stroked the inside of his arm with the spoon handle next, then ran the feather over his abs. Thus she alternated sensations, keeping clear of George’s cock and balls, but otherwise involving all of his body in no discernible pattern at all. 

George grew more and more tense as she went, but she did notice a crease of concentration between his eyebrows. Every now and then, he would catch his lower lip in his teeth, or hiss out a breath, but he didn’t call out or signal his safe word. His cock was twitching – softening, hardening, probably depending on what he was focusing on, Myka thought. Her partner, when she’d dommed, hadn’t been a man, so it was a bit difficult to tell. Even if it had been, different men reacted differently, didn’t they?

When she ran the spoon handle down his inner groin, closer than she’d ever gotten before, he groaned bone-deep, then almost twisted away from her feather when she ran it down the other side. “No,” he said roughly, “Houston, red, no.”

Myka dropped her two items immediately – he was still holding on to the headboard, and she brought her hands up to his, detaching his fingers and taking his hands in hers. He struggled upright and blearily opened his eyes, and she sat down next to him and hugged him to her. “Hey, baby, baby, shhh,” she crooned into his ear. “It’s okay, it’s alright, I stopped. You’re okay. It’s alright.”

He drew his knees up and shuddered, and it sounded almost as if he gagged. 

“Hey,” Myka asked, “hey, are you alright?”

“No,” he choked out, “need to… need to change. Please.”

Myka blanched. Her thoughts started to race. Dysphoria? Probably, and probably not helped by calling forth sensations all over his- no, _her_ body. Yes, that body still had a cock, but if Helena said she needed to change, then this was Helena speaking, no longer George. Right? Myka wasn’t sure, and figured she’d best stick with ‘H.G.’ and ‘they’ for now. She also figured that the dysphoria was probably not helped by holding them close, either – Myka loosened her arms, but H.G. pushed their shoulders into her blindly.

“Don’t-”

“D’you want me to keep holding you?” Myka felt confused, helpless, but H.G. nodded, inasmuch as Myka could tell with how they trembled, so she wrapped her arms around them again. 

It did seem to calm them a little; a few long breaths later they pulled away and looked up at Myka, tears running down their face. “I thought it would be easier,” they whispered. “Easier to persuade a male body into giving over, as it were. So even though I felt the shift within me, I tried to not let it affect me, but-” Again, they made a choking sound. 

“Baby,” Myka breathed, pulling them close again. “Baby, it’s okay. I got you. I understand.” Then she tilted her head back. “Should I let go? Give you some space? Or is this still okay? I don’t want to make things worse, I want to make them easier, okay? Please tell me what I can do.”

Knees still tucked into their chest, H.G. leaned against Myka for a moment longer, then sat up again. “I need to change,” they said again. “I, um… probably am going to need some space for that. I have no idea what might happen if you were to be touching me while I did, and I much rather not find out under these circumstances.”

Myka quickly nodded and scooted back, then got up from the bed and turned around, so that H.G. would have privacy as well as space. She could hear the bedsheets rustle, then H.G. spoke up. 

“Myka?” That was the voice from their female throat.

“Is it okay if I turn around now?” Myka asked – she wanted to be sure about that.

“Oh!” H.G. sounded surprised. She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

When Myka turned around, H.G. – Helena – hadn’t moved much; she still sat with her knees pulled high to her chest, arms around them, shoulders hunched. Myka sat down, leaving a bit of space between them to make sure she wasn’t overreaching or crowding. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?”

Helena cleared her throat again. “If you would… hold me again?”

“Of course!” Myka rushed forwards and wrapped her in her arms again. “Of course, baby,” she said, pressing a kiss on Helena’s hair. “I’m sorry this went so badly for you. Are you warm enough; would you like to put on something?”

“No, I…” Helena shook her head without looking up. “Myka, I…” and then she raised her head and met Myka’s eyes. “Myka, I would very much like to try again, or continue trying as it were. I’m afraid if I turn from this now, I might lose my nerve, you see?”

Myka swallowed. “Are you… are you sure?” Yes, Helena was no longer crying, but tears were still on her face. Myka wiped them away gently. “I know that part of this is about going out of your comfort zone,” she said, “about pushing through, stuff like that, but… I want you to be- no, I _need_ you to be sure that it’s the right call for you to make, okay? That it’s not you just being… stubborn.”

Helena took a deep breath. “I agree that I have a tendency to be a bit… headstrong at times,” she said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “And yes, I am… what’s the expression… tapping into that a bit for this. But, Myka,” again, she breathed deeply, but this time, along came a loosening of arms and a straightening of shoulders, “I want this. I want you. I cannot deny that what you did aroused me, very deeply and deliciously, and I want to give in to that. Or at the very least try, once more, in this form. Please, if you are at all amenable, could we give it another go?”

Her eyes were steady and sincere. It was that what made Myka nod. “Okay,” she said. 

The corresponding smile on Helena’s face was like watching the sun come up, even if it was on a rainy morning, as it were. “Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Same scenario as before?” Myka asked, moving away from Helena and standing up from the bed. “Or would you like to change something?”

Helena thought on that for a moment, then pointed to the feather that lay discarded at the foot of the bed. “That,” she said firmly, “is annoyingly ticklish.”

“ _Too_ ticklish, though? Or manageable?”

“If you had something… less so, I would sincerely appreciate it.”

Myka nodded. “I’ll see if I can find something. Remember your safe word and signal?”

“Houston, three taps or touches, traffic light system,” Helena listed dutifully.

“Good. Please use them, especially the green-yellow-red – I don’t really know your reactions in this body yet, so I’m gonna need you to give me a bit more feedback, okay?” When Helena nodded, Myka asked, again very carefully, “Are you ready?”

Helena took another deep breath. Her knees were still up in front of her chest but falling slightly open now; she was holding her crossed ankles with her crossed wrists, and her whole body spoke of far less tension than before. “Yes,” she said. 

Again, Myka nodded. She took a moment to slip into her persona again, and then instructed, “Lie down, then. Hands above your head, around the bars if it helps, eyes closed, no moving, no talking except safe words and answering my questions.” She watched Helena comply and nodded to herself: Helena’s motions were loose, relaxed, certain. Trusting, in the way she took care to meet Myka’s eyes before she slid hers closed.

Myka left and quickly went to her own bedroom, going through her box of toys until she found a thin silken ribbon – the flimsiest of blindfolds, a joke really and way too easy to see around, but maybe better suited for the light, soft touch she wanted than the ostrich feather had been. She grabbed a few other items that inspired her, then headed back over.

“Color?” she asked as she entered, just like she had last time. 

“Green,” came the reply. 

“Good.” And without much ado, she knelt down next to the bed and closed her mouth around Helena’s nipple – gently, but very firmly, and very probably very unexpectedly. 

Helena gasped, and Myka stilled to see if there was any distress signal coming up. When none appeared, she set out to devour Helena’s breast the way she had always envisioned, even before all this. Helena’s breasts were small, a bit softer than Myka’s, and her nipples were larger – and the one in Myka’s mouth hard as a pebble. Myka flicked it with her tongue, then sucked on it, then nipped the underside of Helena’s breast, then withdrew and blew on the wet traces of her moves.

Goosebumps immediately broke out on Helena’s skin. Myka didn’t linger, but bent upwards and licked down Helena’s triceps, then moved away again and headed towards the other woman’s legs, and now did she bring out the silk ribbon, letting it flutter across Helena’s thigh before licking around her navel.

When she began incorporating her – thankfully short, thankfully blunt – fingernails, running four of them along Helena’s ribs, Helena’s back arched and her legs fell open. 

Myka sat up, leaving no point of contact between her and Helena. “And here I’d thought my instructions had been clear,” she said calmly. “Don’t. Move.”

Helena bit her lip. “Sor-” she began to apologize, but then obviously remembered that silence had been mentioned in the instructions, too. She closed her legs again, even crossed them at the ankles.

“You stopped yourself just in time,” Myka said approvingly. “Still, though, you moved without permission.” She stood up from the bed, knowing that Helena would sense the motion.

Helena sucked in a breath as though she wanted to say something more, but clamped her mouth shut. Her hands were wrapped around the headboard’s uprights, Myka noticed, knuckles white with effort. 

“Can I trust you,” Myka asked slowly, “to follow your instructions from now on?”

“Yes,” Helena said immediately. Her voice was rough. 

“Repeat them to me.”

“No moving, no talking unless it’s a safe word or signal or an answer to your question, eyes closed, hands above my head.” Helena listed them without hesitation. 

“Good. See to it that I don’t have to remind you of them again.”

Again, Helena opened her mouth as if to answer to that, and again, she stopped herself. 

“Good,” Myka said again. “I see you’re complying. That deserves an incentive – open your legs.”

Again, Helena obeyed without hesitation. 

Again, Myka took her nipple in her mouth. For the next few minutes, she very pointedly ignored anything below Helena’s waist. She found that Helena’s clavicles, when licked, resulted in heavier and shakier breaths, as did the underside of her jaw when slightly nipped. A tongue run along the outside of Helena’s lips made them tremble, but Helena determinedly kept her mouth shut until Myka said, “Open,” upon which Helena sucked in another shaky breath. 

“Color?” Myka asked in a low voice right next to Helena’s ear.

“Green,” Helena whispered roughly. 

“Good,” Myka replied, and slowly licked the corner of Helena’s mouth, flicking her tongue in and over and sucking on it as if it was Helena’s labia and clit.

Helena let out a moan so husky, so raw, that if it hadn’t taken Myka’s breath away completely she would have chided her for speaking out of turn. As it was, it hit Myka straight in her own center. She shook the thought away, though; this was for Helena, her own pleasure could come later. She focused.

“Just imagine,” she crooned into Helena’s ear, “how my tongue will feel on your clit when I do this. Surely you have outstanding skills of imagination, right? Put them to use, baby.” Myka pushed her tongue against the corner of Helena’s mouth and slowly entered her. This time, Helena’s reaction was a high-pitched keening. “You might want to take hold of that,” Myka warned her, “or I might just decide it counts as talking.”

Helena wordlessly, tonelessly shuddered. 

“Well done,” Myka told her. 

She took Helena’s lower lip between her teeth and pulled gently, then sucked on it, just the gentlest little pulse. Then she sat up again, shifted her weight, and moved to kneel between Helena’s legs. She could see Helena’s arousal glisten on her labia, and again had to remind herself to focus. She ran the fingernails of both her hands up the insides of Helena’s thighs, but stopped before the apex, and grasped Helena’s ankle instead, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses up her calf until she reached Helena’s knee. When she flicked her tongue across and between the sinews at its back, Helena twitched. 

“Color?” Myka asked again, unsure if the twitch had been a good or bad one.

“Green,” Helena panted in reply, and Myka set to work.

Her tongue and teeth worked one knee while her thumb flexed into the other, until Helena’s breaths were coming in sharp, short gasps and Myka could see her hips tremble with the effort to hold them still. 

“I think you might want me to go down on you,” she said musingly. Helena gave an almost toneless moan just this side of what Myka had admonished her for earlier. She looked closely at the other woman’s face to judge if this was the moment. Helena’s eyes were still firmly shut, her hands still firmly clenched around the headboard bars. There was still that little crease of concentration between her eyebrows, but the rest of her face was slack, loose; her lips were still open and glistened with saliva, trembling and pulsating as she breathed in and out rapidly. She was forming words without sound, Myka saw – a tightening of the lips, almost but not quite closing them, a flick of the tongue upwards, a widening of the lips as the tongue stayed tucked behind the teeth: please, Helena was saying, over and over and over. Please please, inhale, please please, inhale, please please please-

Myka slowly lowered herself down between Helena’s thighs, slowly put her index fingers on Helena’s labia, slowly pulled them apart, and slowly, reverentially, took Helena’s clit in her mouth. 

A rush of air left Helena’s lungs, but she made no sound apart from that, and Myka’s heart went out to her, to how she still was clinging to the rules she’d been given. She cast a quick look upwards and saw that Helena’s elbows were in the air, that her knuckles were white around the bars as she held on to them, that every sinew of her upper body stood out in relief as she strained to obey what Myka had told her.

“If you want to talk, feel free to talk,” Myka said, and was surprised at how husky her own voice sounded. “Make as much noise as you want to, but keep your hands up and your eyes shut. Understood?”

“Ye-ss,” Helena hissed, and exhaled sharply when Myka descended on her clit again. “Please please please,” she whispered, now out loud and no longer just silent shapes, and Myka obliged.

She sucked on Helena’s labia, holding it between her teeth and flicking her tongue across it, then repeated the move on Helena’s clit. Helena’s hips trembled under her chin, with the minutest up-and-down twitch that, at this point, Helena was obviously unable to suppress. Myka kept up the moves on her labia and clit; she could feel Helena grow tenser and tenser, could feel her pulling in her knees then relaxing her thighs again in a conscious effort not to move, not to incur anything that would make Myka stop what she was doing.

“If you want to move,” Myka told her, “feel free to move. Hands up and eyes shut still applies, though.”

As if a dam had burst, Helena began to shake; her legs spread wide and she arched her pelvis up into Myka in a thrusting motion that asked, begged, to be answered.

Myka firmed up her tongue and speared it into Helena’s entrance, and Helena exclaimed wordlessly, lifting her whole upper body from the bed. Myka repeated the motion once, twice, thrusting with her chin to give more heft to the motion as Helena ground her hips into Myka’s face. Then she pulled away and, without missing a beat, pushed a finger in where her tongue had been. 

It slid home with ease – Helena was soaking wet, and Myka had timed her thrust well. She didn’t push all the way in; she didn’t know how tight Helena would be, how deep she should trust, and figured to be safe rather than sorry. Snapping Helena out of it now would be disastrous. She’d judged right – she felt Helena’s insides clench around her finger, heard Helena cry out again, found the slightly different texture of the inner clitoral complex, and started rubbing it, in a circle rather than in and out, for Helena’s hips had lost all rhythm and were simply grinding themselves into Myka now, seeking friction, seeking release. A twist of Helena’s pelvis made Myka’s knuckles push against Helena’s perineum, and Myka remembered that Helena had used that motion to great success with her, back in spring, so she did the same now, pushing down on it with the knuckles of her last two fingers as she slipped her middle finger in to join the first. 

Again, Helena’s upper body came off the bed. Her insides clenched themselves around Myka’s fingers like a vice, and Myka kept up her motions, inside and out, steady as Helena curled inwards, strained, strained, and then with a long, loud, quavering cry started to come. She shook and bucked under Myka, and Myka wrapped her free arm around Helena’s waist to steady herself and keep up her rhythm, stoking what Helena was letting happen, pushing her higher, further, drawing out her orgasm until she reached another peak and crashed back onto the bed. And still Helena’s hips pushed, ground, trembled for more. Myka added a third finger, found ample space now, added another – and now Helena found a rhythm again, and Myka matched it, fast as it was, accentuated by Helena’s short, loose cries every time Myka pumped into her until at last, with one last, long, utterly unrestrained exclamation, Helena’s pelvis arched into the air as she ground her clit against Myka’s teeth, as her insides gripped and released Myka’s fingers hungrily, as Myka’s arm around her waist steadied her and carried her through.

The moment Myka set Helena’s boneless body down onto the mattress, she moved up – she needed to know if Helena was okay. 

Tears were running down Helena’s face, and she was still holding onto the headboard. Myka gently eased her fingers open, then gathered Helena into her arms, wrapped the sheets around them both and held her, whispering gentle reassurance as Helena slowly calmed down. 

She heard a murmur from Helena and leaned her head down to catch it. “Thank you,” Helena was saying, over and over again like the ‘please’ from before.

“Baby,” Myka replied in a low voice, “baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. Shh, baby, I got you.”

A sob shook Helena, but it remained singular, and Helena remained slack in Myka’s arms. Her recitation of ‘thank you’ subsided after a while, and then she moved to burrow more closely into Myka’s arms. Then, after a few long moments, she cleared her throat and said, “Thank you,” in a louder and clearer voice than before. “Thank you, my love.”

Myka kissed her hairline, smiling at how mussed up Helena’s hair was, knowing that the moment Helena became aware of it, she’d be off to find a brush. “You’re so welcome, baby,” she said. “And I’m so grateful, too.”

“You’re grateful?”

Myka’s smile deepened at how Helena didn’t move a muscle to look up at her but stayed where she was in the crook of Myka’s arm. “M-hm,” she confirmed. “You worked so hard to do this, to let me give this to you. To trust me, and open up to me, and achieve what you wanted. Helena, you-” she broke off and shook her head, trying to find words to wrap around how she felt. “It is… it was… _humbling_ , to see and feel your trust in me. And it was incredible to witness your willpower and strength.”

Helena laughed softly and said, “I feel weak as a kitten, Myka,” as if that was a suitable rejection of what Myka had said. 

“That’s not what I meant, babe, and I’m pretty sure you know that.” Myka kissed Helena’s forehead again. “Take the compliment, silly Hugin.”

“Righty-ho then,” Helena murmured, and now Myka laughed.

“God, I love you,” she said.

Helena stilled for a moment, then took a quivering breath and snuggled her face more closely into the crook of Myka’s neck. “And I you,” she replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my lovelies! This is what I've written so far. The thing is: this can be a set-up for a whole nice lot of scenarios: a secluded little cabin in the woods for only the two of them offers all kinds of possibilities for sexytimes of every flavor. Outdoor sex, installing sexy features in the cabin, exploring Myka's realization that she liked being helpless at Helena's mercy in Part One, exploring H.G.'s bisexuality by involving someone else in a more-some - readers, what would you love to see? Definitely more F/F, that's a given, but if you have more specific wishes, let me know!


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